Good Fences
by happycabbage75
Summary: Post Conspiracy.  Things go from bad to worse when Oliver and Chloe still can't quite make up.  Add a mafia boss and a kidnapping...
1. Chapter 1

**Good Fences**

Summary: Post Conspiracy. Things go from bad to worse when Oliver and Chloe still can't quite make up.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Just borrowing.

_It always seemed a little too easy, going from Oliver's anger that Chloe had taken the money without asking to their happily taking a vacation together at the inn. So this story is a little bridge between the two._

_And while I'm being completely self-promotional, if you're interested in something original, my new novel, _Glass Promises_, is available at Amazon. You can follow the link on my homepage or LJ. Romance, adventure, spies, etc…_

Chapter One

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><p>Chloe marched down the corridor toward Oliver's Luthorcorp office, trying not to let her anger get the best of her. She'd been looking all over town for him. She'd started out calling all of the phone numbers she had for him. She'd tried his apartment, the office, his secretary, his chauffeur, his cell numbers, even his pilot in case he was on his way somewhere. The jet was in the hanger, the limo, the town car, and sports cars were parked, and his secretary hadn't seen him, although she'd been expecting him at the office that morning. Chloe couldn't even ping his cell phone for a location because it was apparently off.<p>

After that, she'd checked his apartment, going so far as to open the secret room. That hadn't alleviated any of her worries. All of Oliver's gear had appeared to still be in place, at which point she'd really started to get nervous. She'd put Watchtower to work scouring hours of video. Unfortunately, there was no sign of him in Metropolis in the last several hours and Oliver owned a fleet of non-descript cars that were kept in strategic places across the city since he couldn't super-speed like Clark or Bart, so one of those vehicles being in one place or another didn't mean anything.

It didn't help that Chloe hadn't actually talked to Oliver in nearly a week. After he found out about her siphoning money to buy the kryptonite weapons, things had been strained to say the least. When he'd had the weapons moved without telling her where, things had taken a distinctly frosty turn. Oliver, as some form of punishment for not telling him about the money, still refused to tell her where the weapons were. Either that or he just couldn't bring himself to talk to her.

Chloe had tried to be patient, but unfortunately, she didn't have time for any more dawdling. They needed the weapons. Zod was on the move, determined to gain Clark-like powers, and she was not willing to let him get ahead of them. If that meant pointing lots of sharp meteorite laced items at him then so be it. She'd come to the decision that morning that she wanted the weapons distributed strategically sooner rather than later. That meant she needed to know where the weapons were and she was tired of Oliver avoiding her.

That decision had led to her increasingly panicked hunt for Oliver. She wasn't scared for him anymore, however. Now she was pissed. She'd missed it the first time she was scanning the video of his office, but after worrying herself sick, she'd looked in all of his usual places one more time only to see Oliver, seemingly dead asleep on the sofa in his office barely visible at the edge of the camera's view. He'd apparently managed to get past his secretary without her noticing.

Chloe's heels clacked loudly as she walked down the hallway toward the office. Asleep. The jerk was asleep while the world was crashing down around them and while she was worrying herself to death that he'd been hurt or kidnapped or about a hundred other scenarios her brain had come up with.

Chloe threw open the door, which refused to slam as she would have liked thanks to the, no doubt, extremely expensive mechanism that let the door open and close almost silently. She then stomped into the office and headed toward the grouping of plush chairs and sofa. Even now she could see Oliver's cell phone sitting on a glass top table, still turned off.

She looked down at him and the second she did, her anger drained away as quickly as it had arisen. The poor guy looked exhausted. His normally tan face was paler than usual and he had dark circles under his eyes. He was wearing jeans instead of the suit he habitually wore to the office and he'd used his jacket as a makeshift blanket to cover up from neck to waist. He still had his shoes on and if Chloe had to guess, he'd just walked in and flopped down, too tired to do anything more than that.

Chloe couldn't help feeling a little guilty. More than anyone, she knew just how much Oliver had to do. He was a CEO for a multi-billion dollar corporation, two of them in fact. Taking over Luthorcorp had been an enormous undertaking. In addition, he had his Green Arrow duties, which he took just as seriously. If he wasn't traveling on business, she knew he was out almost every night fighting, protecting, always moving, always on guard. Once they'd started their… association, she knew that he'd dedicated precious time to her, time that could have been spent elsewhere.

Now that she thought of it, she wasn't sure if the man every really slept. As a matter of fact, she was pretty sure it should be illegal for a man to look that good in a state of perpetual exhaustion. The rest of the world, who didn't do nearly as much as he did, walked around looking like coffee-drinking zombies who'd just fallen out of bed. Jerk.

Which reminded her why she was there. She needed to know where those weapons were.

"Oliver?" she said, her voice sounding loud in the silent office. "Oliver, wake up." When he didn't so much as budge, Chloe stepped closer and shook one of his shoulders. "Oliver, I need to talk to you."

Oliver's eyes blinked open and he began to draw in a deep breath, but he abruptly stopped, wincing and shutting his eyes against the light. "Chloe?" he said, his voice sounding muzzy and barely awake. He opened one eye, wincing again as if his head were killing him, and slowly he managed to focus on her. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you. We've got a problem." She kept her tone businesslike since she wasn't quite sure how he was going to play this after their _misunderstanding_ about the money. With Oliver it was hard to tell sometimes. He liked to play things close to the vest, which she knew a little something about.

"What time is it?" he said, still sounding mostly asleep.

"It's past noon, Oliver," she said, her voice slightly disapproving. It wasn't like Ollie to be so out of it. At least not since his last round of suicidal binge drinking. "Late night?"

"You could say that." He sighed again, still refusing to move from his prone position.

"Did you hear me?" Chloe snapped, once again getting annoyed. "I said we have a problem."

"Sit down," he ordered, slurring. "Too tall."

Chloe blinked at that, and sat in one of the chairs opposite him. She'd certainly never been called too tall before. She supposed she might be though to a guy who appeared to be either still drunk or so hung-over he didn't even want to raise his head to look at her. Worry began to sneak in again. It hadn't been too long since he'd been a suicidal mess with his face in the gutter. He'd come a long way since then, however, and she didn't think a full spiral was in the works just because of their little tiff. A bout of angry drinking, however, apparently wasn't out of the question.

"Oliver, are you going to sit up and talk to me or not?"

"Hmm… probably not," he said halfheartedly, although it came out sounding closer to "prollynt."

"Can you at least open your eyes?" she shot back. "This is _serious_, Oliver."

"Hmm…" he said again.

"Damn it, Ollie, I need to know where the weapons are!" she nearly shouted, all pretense gone.

The problem was that there was no response at all. Oliver just continued to lie on the sofa as if he hadn't even heard her.

"Oliver?" Chloe stood and edged closer to him. "Look, I know you don't like how I went about this, but…" She stopped beside the sofa looking down at him, frowning when she still got no response. "Ollie?"

Chloe reached down and shook him by the shoulder again, furious that he'd apparently fallen right back asleep. As she pulled away, Oliver's hand fell from where he'd had it across his stomach and poked out from underneath the jacket that was covering his chest. The action dislodged the jacket slightly and Chloe's eyes widened.

"Oliver, is that _blood_?"

Chloe grabbed the jacket and jerked it off of him, throwing it to one side. She gasped.

Everywhere. The blood was everywhere.

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><p><em>More soon…<em>


	2. Chapter 2

**Good Fences**

Summary: Post Conspiracy. Things go from bad to worse when Oliver and Chloe still can't quite make up.

_Thank you very much for the kind reviews. Now on we go. Poor Ollie was hurt..._

Chapter Two

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><p>Chloe's mind seemed to freeze, clueless as to what to do. She'd been there, talking to him for she didn't know how long now while Oliver was bleeding to death. His jacket had completely hidden the damage from her, and even now she couldn't tell exactly where the blood was coming from. Some of it was old, his shirt drying to his skin, but some was fresh, still seeping from open wounds.<p>

Chloe knelt at his side, her hands hovering over his chest, terrified of touching him and hurting him further, while simultaneously terrified that if she didn't stop the bleeding he would never live long enough to reach the hospital. Horrifying images of Jimmy bleeding to death in her arms began to engulf her and she became lightheaded, tears already springing to her eyes.

This was different. This _had_ to be different. He wasn't Jimmy. He wouldn't die like Jimmy.

"Oliver." The name came out as a gasping croak. "Oliver, what happened?"

There was no response at all and she knew there was no more time to waste. He'd already been without medical attention for far too long. She could only pray it wasn't too late.

Chloe stood and fumbled for her phone, dialing with trembling fingers. She nearly sobbed with relief when she heard someone pick up. "Clark." It was a desperate squeak and she doubted even he could hear it. "Clark," she tried again, stronger now. "I'm in Oliver's office. Clark, he's hurt!"

Within seconds, Clark, accompanied by a gust of wind appeared in front of her. He was wearing a dress shirt and tie and she guessed he'd come from the Planet. He looked at Chloe, then around the office and almost immediately he zeroed in on the problem.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice too loud.

"Later, Clark. Take him to the hospital," she ordered. "I'll call Emil."

Faster than her eyes could process, Clark snatched up Oliver and was gone. For a second, all Chloe could see was the bloodstained sofa. Oliver had come in injured and it killed her that rather than call her, he'd simply lain down, perhaps thinking he could take care of it himself later. Had her decision to keep him out of the loop really hurt him so badly that he wouldn't even call her when he was desperate?

Chloe shook the thoughts aside. She dialed Emil and was relieved to learn that he wasn't far from the hospital and would meet Clark in the ER. She then tucked the phone away and simply stood there, uncertain as to what to do next. Should she go to the hospital and wait? Would Oliver even want to see her when he woke up? If he woke up?

That thought made her heart constrict painfully. It also helped her decide what to do. She pulled her touchpad out of her bag and set Watchtower to work. She needed video, locations, everything. She needed to know how this had happened. While the computer worked, she walked out of the office and headed for the elevator. Whether Oliver wanted her there or not, she knew she had to go to the hospital.

Their relationship wasn't the norm. Technically, it wasn't even a "relationship", but that didn't mean they weren't friends first and foremost. She needed to know that he was ok. It didn't mean anything special, she quickly told herself. He was just a friend she shared a bed with every so often. And honestly, they were both so busy, it wasn't all that often.

Chloe hailed a cab and huffed, annoyed with herself. Even her inner monologue was rambling now. The fact was Oliver confused her. Or rather she confused herself. Or something. She couldn't allow him to get any closer than he already was. It was too dangerous. She knew exactly what happened when she let a man get too close. He died. Or he left. Or he hurt her. Whatever happened, she was left holding the bag. She was left alone and broken. She would not let that happen again.

But be that as it may… she had to get to Oliver.

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><p>Chloe stood when Emil walked into the waiting room. It had been hours since Clark had dropped Oliver off, and Chloe had been sitting there ever since, all the while with her computer in hand trying to figure out what had happened.<p>

"How is he?" she asked, annoyed at how breathless she sounded. What was she? A typical, hand-wringing female waiting to hear about her man? She wasn't his wife and she wasn't his girlfriend. She was just Chloe and he was just Oliver. They worked together and occasionally shared a few laughs once work was over.

Emil sighed tiredly. "Barring any complications, he should recover soon enough. We've sewn up the knife wounds and dealt with the blood loss, but to tell you the truth, I don't think whoever did this was trying to kill him."

"What do you mean?" Chloe had video now of the attack. She hadn't found it earlier because it had happened outside of the several hours of video she'd been scanning. It was also the reason his secretary hadn't known Oliver was in his office. He'd gotten there before her and hadn't moved since.

According to the video, late the night before, Oliver had driven into the Luthorcorp offices and parked in the private parking area of the garage reserved for the upper echelons of management. He'd barely gotten out of the car before a man approached him and got in his face. There had been a brief, heated conversation, then without warning, the other man had pulled a knife and, to Chloe's eyes, tried to gut Oliver like a fish. He'd fought like the well-trained vigilante he was, but the other man had obviously been well-trained too. They'd fought and fought, each time they met Oliver coming away with a new injury, more and more blood visible when the two parted. Finally, Oliver had managed to twist the man's arm back and, with a vicious, desperate yank, dislocate his shoulder. The attacker had responded by rounding on Oliver and punching him so hard, he'd hit the pavement like a ton of bricks and hadn't moved again while his injured assailant made a break for it.

Emil shook his head. "The knife wounds to Oliver's torso were deliberate slices. Deep, but not deep enough to do internal damage, although shock and blood loss could have killed him if you hadn't found him. Whoever did this was sending a message, and they wanted Oliver alive to get it." He cocked his head to one side, regarding her. "I'll leave it up to you to make Oliver tell you what that message is."

Chloe shook her head. More likely she'd have to decipher it herself. It seemed to be the way things worked for her. Even when she could help the heroes in her life, too often they continued to play things close to the vest and kept her at arm's length. Oliver more than most seemed to keep things to himself, especially anything personal, and she had a feeling it would be worse since she hadn't told him about the money she'd taken. That plus his injuries meant he would be feeling vulnerable, and he didn't like that any better than she did.

"Thanks, Emil. Can… can I see him?" she asked tentatively. She didn't enjoy feeling like she might be intruding just to see Oliver. He was her… something, even though they were currently at odds.

"Of course. Come with me." Emil led the way out of the waiting room, and Chloe felt herself tensing up. Emil said he was going to be fine, but…

"He's in there." Emil pointed toward the room and Chloe saw that the blinds were drawn in an effort to keep too many people from knowing that _the_ Oliver Queen was in the hospital. He was entered into the system under an assumed name, but word would get around anyway. Still, she knew Emil would do his best to keep it quiet as long as he could. As if reading her mind, he added, "I'll have him moved to his penthouse as soon as I can get Clark to take him. People are already asking questions and I'm assuming you don't want the police involved in this."

"Of course," she replied quickly.

"I can take care of him there, or arrange for a private nurse to see to him."

"I'll take care of him," Chloe said, the words coming out of her mouth before she could think better of them. Her gaze flew to Emil in case he caught on that there was more going on than just worry about a co-worker. So much for keeping her distance, she thought ruefully.

"We'll see," Emil said, none the wiser. "It will depend on his condition and how quickly he improves. The muscle damage will be very painful as it heals and it will take time, not to mention the risk of infection."

Chloe nodded, and ordered herself to stop fidgeting. Conflicted feelings or not, she suddenly needed very badly to be in the room with Oliver.

"Go on," Emil said. "I'll call Clark."

Chloe didn't need to be told twice. She hustled into the room and as quickly as she had entered, stopped short. Oliver looked dreadful, even worse than he'd looked at the office. His features were pale and drawn, and his lips, normally so kissable, were dry and cracked. He had bruises all over his arms and chest, everywhere that wasn't hidden beneath bandages. It looked like Emil had already detached the IV in preparation of Clark taking Oliver home, leaving only the heart monitor, which gave her some consolation that Emil was right. Despite the bandages covering his chest, the attacker had meant to harm Oliver, but not actually kill him.

Chloe stepped to the side of the bed and took one of his hands in hers. "Oliver, can you hear me?"

There was no reaction and she looked to the heart monitor which hadn't changed tempo. As always, even with the blood loss, his blood pressure was lower than average, and she was momentarily jealous of his athlete's resting heart rate. Chloe smiled to herself as she thought that she wasn't jealous enough to actually work out as much as Oliver did to keep himself in top shape.

Chloe brushed his hair back from his brow. She could see the bruise now from where he'd been knocked out, which had been mostly hidden by his hair. "You're going to be ok," she said quietly. "You will be, and then you're going to tell me exactly what kind of mess you've got yourself into."

"Not me," Oliver said hoarsely.

She jumped at the words, surprised that he was even half-awake. He was probably doped to the gills. "Ollie? Can you hear me?"

He squeezed her hand. "Not me," he said again.

"Not you, what? I don't understand."

Oliver opened bleary eyes that took too long to focus on her. "Not my mess," he slurred. "Lex. Lex's mess."

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><p><em>More soon… with some actual interaction between our hero and heroine.<em>


	3. Chapter 3

**Good Fences**

Summary: Post Conspiracy. Things go from bad to worse when Oliver and Chloe still can't quite make up.

_Thank you so much for the kind words. Now… It's definitely time our two favorite people had a chat, eh?_

Chapter Three

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><p>"Ollie?" Chloe squeezed his hand a little harder. "What are you talking about?"<p>

"Lex," he said again, his eyes fluttering closed, barely conscious. "His mess."

"How is this his mess?" she pressed. "Ollie?" Just Lex's name was enough to send chills down her spine and she needed to know what was going on if she was going to give the rest of the team a heads-up.

There was no answer and Chloe realized Oliver had once again dropped off to sleep. She sighed and decided that she would redouble her efforts adding the Lex angle into Watchtower's searches.

Chloe heard the door open and looked up to see Clark entering the room. He closed the door behind him and walked to stand on the other side of the bed.

"How is he?" he asked softly.

"Emil says he'll be all right," she replied at the same volume. "He'll just need some time to recuperate." Chloe smoothly removed her hand from Oliver's grasp and set it on the bed, grateful that Clark didn't seem to notice the movement.

"Do you know what happened?"

"He was attacked in the parking garage at Luthorcorp. But he just said that it had something to do with Lex."

"Lex?" Clark asked, wide-eyed. "Is that possible?"

Chloe shrugged. "Anything's possible when it comes to Lex. We've been cleaning up his leftover messes for what feels like forever."

Clark just nodded, looking like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. So… he looked pretty much like he always did. Finally, he sighed. "Emil asked me to move him to the Clocktower."

"Ok, I'm going too. I'll keep an eye on him," she explained, "while you go to the parking garage. See if there's anything out of the ordinary. Oliver is fast, but whoever did this to him was faster." While she talked she began removing the sensors from Oliver's chest. If Clark thought she was too comfortable or, at least, not embarrassed enough being that close to Oliver then so be it. "From the looks of the video, it took everything Oliver had to keep the guy back. But from what Emil says, he didn't actually mean to kill Ollie. That makes him even more dangerous. That means Oliver was fighting full out to keep this guy back and he was just toying with him."

Clark nodded. "I'll take Oliver, then I'll be back for you, ok?"

Chloe had barely nodded her assent before Clark was gone and the bed was empty. A minute later, Clark reappeared and she supposed he'd been moving slowly, relatively speaking, to keep from hurting Oliver further.

"Ready?" he asked, and Chloe nodded, mentally preparing herself for the always dizzying sensation of being carried by Clark as he zoomed across the city.

For a second, she couldn't help but compare the feeling of being in Clark's arms to being in Oliver's. Clark was big, strong, protective and his touch was brotherly, respectful even. Oliver, on the other hand, was more leanly muscled, his physique earned through hard work and dedication. He, too, was so much bigger than she was, strong, but there was nothing brotherly about the way he held her and sometimes, when he looked at her, the look in his eyes, it wasn't respect she saw, it was almost… reverence. It was those times that truly frightened her.

Clark set her down in the main room of Oliver's apartment. Immediately, Chloe pulled out her computer. "Go," she said. "Let me know if you find anything in the parking garage. I'll let you know if I figure anything else out."

"You sure you'll be ok?" he asked, his brow furrowed as he looked toward Oliver's bedroom.

Chloe nodded. "I'll stay until Emil comes by or he gets a nurse for Oliver." She didn't need to tell him that she'd be the one playing nursemaid for a little while. In this case, what Clark didn't know certainly wouldn't hurt him. When Clark still hesitated, Chloe rolled her eyes. He always had treated Oliver a bit like a ticking time bomb, especially where she was concerned. "He's incapacitated, Clark. I'm pretty sure my maidenly honor will remain unscathed." _Tonight_.

"Fine," he finally said, although he was still unhappy. He walked into the elevator and closed the door, saying, "I'll call if I find anything."

Almost the second Clark was out of sight, Chloe headed for Oliver's bedroom. She refused to consider that it was anything more than worry for a friend that was driving her sudden need to be with him.

As she entered, she saw that Clark had set Oliver on the bed, but that he hadn't bothered to make sure Oliver was comfortable before leaving. He was lying on top of the covers, still in the scrub type pants from the hospital, with his bandaged chest exposed.

"Boyscout gone?" Oliver's gravelly voice cut through her thoughts, surprising her again that he was awake.

"Yeah."

He groaned and shifted awkwardly on the bed. "Good. S'embarrassing to throw up in front of the other guys. Totally ruins the whole macho thing I've been going for."

"Are you going to be sick?" Chloe hurried toward the bed where Oliver was struggling to rise to a sitting position. In a sudden burst of movement, he rose and staggered toward the bathroom. Chloe followed only to have the door slammed unceremoniously in her face.

Never let it be said Chloe Sullivan couldn't take a hint.

She waited anxiously outside the door, cringing as Oliver emptied whatever was left in his stomach, which couldn't be much. The attack had been during the night and he certainly hadn't eaten anything since.

Finally, when Chloe was ready to go in whether Oliver liked it or not, the door opened and Oliver appeared, white as a sheet and smelling of mouthwash now instead of just hospital antiseptic. He looked none too steady and used one hand to hold onto the door jamb. The other he had wrapped around his chest and she could only guess at how much strain he had just put on his already damaged muscles.

"Remind me," he said, still breathing heavily. "Never, _ever_ let Clark haul me around like that when I've got a concussion."

"Are you all right?" Oliver turned his gaze on her, his expression saying she just might be insane. "Ok, no," she stated the obvious. "Let's get you back to bed."

Chloe stepped up next to him and put her arm around his waist. For a second she thought he might push her away, but instead he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and allowed her to escort him slowly back toward the bed. He kept the other arm wrapped around his middle and Chloe hated to see the pain evident in every taut, strained muscle as he moved.

Once they reached the bed, she slid from beneath his arm and quickly pulled back the coverlet and bajillion thread count sheets which she had grown to envy every time she slipped into her own clearance-priced bedding. Without waiting for assistance, Oliver sank down onto the bed, and Chloe had a sneaking suspicion it was because he couldn't have stood long enough to wait for her to help. He did let her help him raise his legs onto the bed as he settled back into the pillows.

"Thank you," he said quietly, out of breath, but hurting too badly to do anything more than take shallow pants of air.

Chloe pulled the covers back up over him and backed away slightly. "Can I get you anything?" she asked, feeling suddenly awkward. She'd only been in his bedroom a few times and there had been precious little talking going on then.

"I'm fine," he said through gritted teeth, staring resolutely at the ceiling.

They remained that way, in silence, for several moments, until finally Chloe couldn't take it anymore. She mentally ordered herself to get her act together, no matter how out of her depth she felt and no matter their current thorny association.

"So you want to tell me what happened last night?"

Oliver's smile was wry, although he still refused to look at her. "I always said parking in this town was a problem."

"Oliver, be serious," she ordered sternly. "You're a mess and I want to know why. Now talk."

His eyes slowly tracked from the ceiling down to her and for a moment he just stared at her, scrutinizing her face. "So we're all about full disclosure now, are we?"

Chloe frowned fiercely. Yup. Oliver was definitely still angry about the money. "That's not fair," she countered. "I was protecting you then and I'm still trying to protect you now."

Oliver sniffed, closed his eyes and turned his head away from her. "You just hate being left out of the loop. Well, join the club," he said tiredly.

"Oh, no, you don't." Chloe marched around to the other side of the bed. When he kept his eyes closed, she had no choice but to climb up on it. She sat with her legs crossed, as close as she could get to him without touching him. She then promptly flicked the tip of his nose with her finger.

"Hey!" Oliver's eyes shot open and he glared at her. "Do you always torture injured people?"

"I do when they're being an ass."

"I'm being an ass?"

"Yes." She nodded for emphasis. "An ass."

For a moment he simply regarded her, studying her so closely Chloe wanted to squirm. She couldn't tell if he was angry or hurt or disapproving or… anything. All she could tell was this wasn't the easy rapport they normally shared. Whatever was going on in his head, she had no choice but to wait and see which way the wind was blowing.

Finally he asked, "How've you been?"

"So so," she answered honestly.

"How come?"

Chloe shrugged, and now she was the one refusing to meet his gaze. "This guy I know… he's not too happy with me right now. I… kinda screwed up."

"That so."

"Yeah." She dared a glance at him and, rather than contempt or anger, she saw amusement touching his expression.

"So you're here to take your frustration out on me?"

Chloe frowned. "I'm here to find out why you got hurt. I've seen the video, Oliver. You and that guy got into a shouting match and then he tried to gut you like a fish."

Oliver pursed his lips. "More like tried to filet me, really."

Her eyes narrowed at his attempt to brush it off. "Either way you're full of holes and well on your way to dead. Now, what's going on? You mentioned Lex."

"It's nothing," he said, his tone dismissive. "I'll take care of it."

"You're doing a bang-up job so far."

"This is nothing." He gestured vaguely to his injuries. "And it's nothing you need to worry about."

"Oliver, I found you passed out in your office, cut to ribbons. It doesn't seem like nothing."

"I can handle it," he insisted.

"Let me help you," she said, her frustration increasing exponentially. "It's what I do."

For the first time, Oliver looked genuinely angry. "Maybe you can just handle it for me. I'm sure you know how to get the money out of my accounts." His tone was glacial, and she felt it like a direct slap to the face. "At least do me a favor and send me a memo this time so I'll know it's been taken care of."

"Oliver!" Chloe said, outrage and hurt evident. He had so rarely turned his fury on her, or anyone for that matter. He always played everything so cool, as if it didn't matter one way or another, but she knew real anger simmered just below the surface. It was part of what drove him to do what he did, but to feel it aimed at her, it was especially brutal now.

Abruptly, he closed his eyes and sagged against the pillows. "I'm sorry," he said wearily. "I shouldn't have said that. I'm just… I feel…"

Angry. Bitter. Used.

Chloe knew all too well how little people cared about Oliver himself. For security reasons, she kept track of his e-mails, his texts, everything. All his phones were tapped. To most, including his so-called friends, Oliver was just a wallet on two legs. She should have realized how badly he would react to what she'd done, but she really had hoped to replace the money before anyone noticed it was gone.

"So…" Oliver cleared his throat. "A couple of months after the takeover at Luthorcorp, I had my QI people start a full line by line audit of Luthorcorp."

The statement surprised her and Chloe realized he was trying to apologize by doing what she'd asked and telling her what was going on.

"They went through everything, from the budget for paperclips and staples, office furniture, to the contracts and the legitimate business, to every stinking pie the Luthors had their fingers in."

"And?" she prompted.

"And I had them systematically shut down every project that had even a whiff of anything dirty attached to it. I _will not_ have my father's company connected to their underhanded schemes," he added vehemently.

"Easy, Ollie." She set her hand on his shoulder urging him to remain calm. Threatening Queen Industries was one of the best ways to make an enemy of Oliver, as she personally knew now. It didn't help that Oliver never thought of it as his company. It was his father's, a legacy to be protected at all costs. Regardless, Oliver was running on fumes already and she suddenly felt guilty for pushing him to talk when he should be resting.

"It's taken…" He shook his head tiredly. "It feels like forever, but one by one, we've shut it all down, every project, every lab, everything we could find."

"Then what happened?"

He set a hand lightly across his ribs. "Funnily enough, some of the shadier people Lex dealt with don't appreciate being put out of business."

"Who-" Chloe heard a very odd sort of ring tone. It wasn't a typical phone ringing and she'd never heard it on her previous visits to Oliver's home.

Oliver sighed and for a moment he looked even more exhausted. "That's the direct line from the office." He reached to the small table beside the bed, grimacing at the movement, and punched a button on a remote sitting on the table.

"Queen," he said formally, every trace of weariness and pain gone from his voice.

The response came in through speakers that Chloe now realized were embedded in the ceiling. "Sir, they've taken Debra."

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><p><em>More soon…<em>


	4. Chapter 4

**Good Fences**

Summary: Post Conspiracy. Things go from bad to worse when Oliver and Chloe still can't quite make up.

_Allrighty then… the question of the hour. Who the heck is Debra and why should we give a rat's patootie… Whatever the case, last chapter she'd been kidnapped._

Chapter Four

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><p>In another person, Chloe might have expected all sorts of histrionic reactions to an apparent kidnapping, but not from Oliver. He simply became very, very still, his brain already visibly at work.<p>

"When?" he demanded.

The disembodied male voice coming through the speakers answered, "About an hour ago. She was coming in from Japan and they nabbed her at the airport."

"Are the police aware?"

"No, sir. The only reason we know is that her driver saw it happen."

"Have we heard from _them_ yet?"

"No, sir."

"Keep me apprised. I'm on my way in."

"Yes, sir."

Chloe heard the sound of the disconnect, followed by something she'd never seen before. Oliver let out a string of profanity the likes of which Chloe had rarely heard and only about a fifth of it was even English.

"Impressive," Chloe said dryly. "Good to see that expensive education wasn't wasted. Was that Swedish?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Oliver was breathing too hard, and he scrubbed a hand over his face as if he could order himself to focus despite his exhaustion. "That was Finnish. Although there might have been some Norwegian in there."

"You wanna tell me what's going on now?" she asked.

Rather than answer, Oliver tossed back the covers and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He groaned immediately and started to double over in agony.

"Are you crazy?" Chloe exclaimed. "What do you think you're doing?" She scrambled off the bed inelegantly and ran around to stand in front of him. She put her hands on his shoulders and held him back.

"I have to get to the office, Chloe. I don't have a choice."

"Of course, you have a choice," she snapped. "You can call on all your non-knifed, super-powered friends and your personal Big Brother and we'll find whoever it is they took."

Oliver shot her an angry glance. "They're already busy saving the _world_. This isn't their problem, Watchtower, or yours for that matter. I'm her boss. This is my mess to fix."

"Oliver, that's one of the dumbest things you've ever said," she stated flatly, "and that's saying something."

"Gee, thanks." He frowned. "Doesn't change the fact that it's true."

Oliver literally pushed her back, reminding Chloe that even injured, he was a lot stronger than she was. If Oliver wanted past her, he would just go. He stood slowly, pain lining his features. For a moment, he looked like he was either going to pass out or throw up again. She wasn't sure which.

"Oliver-"

"You want to help me?" he said through gritted teeth. "Find me a shirt."

"No. Ollie, listen," she pleaded. "You're _hurt_."

Oliver straightened. He closed his eyes, and she wasn't sure what he was doing, but he took several slow measured breaths. He remained that way, perfectly still, for nearly a minute, and something about the way he was standing made Chloe remain silent. She had a feeling it was some sort of meditation technique and as much as she wanted to smack him and tell him to knock it off, she didn't interrupt.

Finally, Oliver opened his eyes again and walked toward his closet. She could tell he was hurting, but he was mentally pushing it aside, ignoring it through sheer force of will. He disappeared inside the cavernous walk-in closet and reappeared with a pressed suit, no doubt fresh from the drycleaners.

Chloe raised an eyebrow. "A suit? Really?"

Oliver didn't even smirk. "This is war, business style. I have to go in and let my team know I'm in charge of the situation. It doesn't instill confidence if the boss looks like he just got the crap kicked out of him in the parking garage."

"Please, let me call Clark."

Oliver clenched his hands into fists, clearly frustrated. "Look, just… just help me get dressed." He softened his voice. "Please. My people need me and I… I'm not sure I can manage this."

She could see that it killed him to admit it. Chloe sighed and came forward, taking the suit from him by the hanger. "For the record, I still think you're an idiot."

"Duly noted."

"At least sit on the bed," she urged, and it was a testament to Oliver's pathetic state that he immediately complied.

On his way to the bed, Oliver pulled the drawstring knot holding up his hospital issued pants and let them fall. Chloe simply shook her head. If she lived to be a hundred years old, she would never be as confident, or as unabashedly brazen about her body as Oliver was. Sure, he'd seen all of her now, but still… The guy just had no shame whatsoever. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of. Obviously.

Chloe shook her head to get her brain back on more pertinent matters. She quickly walked toward Oliver, snagging boxers and an undershirt from his dresser on the way, and helped him dress. She kept her touch businesslike and impersonal. If she blushed, he made no mention of it, although she was pretty sure she caught a smirk out of the corner of her eye.

Finally, when all that was left was the tie, a beautiful blue and yellow silk, Oliver sat on the edge of the bed and ducked his head slightly so she could pull it around his neck. He then straightened for her to work on the knot and as if they'd done this a hundred times before, she stepped between his legs and he put his hands on her hips. He didn't do anything untoward, simply rested them there while she worked. Nevertheless, Chloe couldn't help a small shiver of pleasure.

"I missed you," he said lowly, making Chloe fumble the tie and have to start again.

"I don't know why. We're both so busy, we barely see each other anyway," she answered, trying to play it cool. Chloe ruthlessly tamped down what she actually wanted to say which was, "me too." Instead, she kept her expression carefully neutral, if not a bit aloof. They were friends, nothing more, and the look in Oliver's eye meant she was going to have to be strong enough for both of them to keep this strictly within bounds of their agreement.

"I still missed you."

Chloe closed her eyes, unwilling even to chance looking at Oliver's handsome face, or see the wound she had caused by keeping one secret too many. She was the one who had caused this rift, yet despite her chilly demeanor, Oliver obviously wanted to mend it.

"Please, don't do it again," he almost whispered.

Chloe gave up on the tie. She dropped her hands and stepped back, purposely moving out of his embrace. "I won't." She tried for a lopsided smile, but wasn't sure how well she managed it. "I promise to give you a heads-up next time I need to embezzle a few million dollars."

"Borrow." He let out a tiny puff of a laugh. "_Borrow_ a few million dollars."

It was a concession and Chloe accepted it for what it was. "Right."

Oliver took the ends of his tie and with only a few practiced movements had the length of silk wrapped expertly around his neck.

Chloe harrumphed. "Show off."

In response, Oliver smiled brightly. "Always."

He stood up and let Chloe help him into his suit coat. He then held out his hand to her. "You coming?"

"You sure you want me?" she asked, her eyes narrowed. "I ought to be out saving the world, you know, not interfering in your… whatever this is."

"I always want you," he answered blithely. "I thought that was a given." When she didn't take the hand he was still holding out toward her, he sighed. "Fine. You're right. I could use your help. Besides," he smirked, "I know you're dying to poke your nose into this, so how long are you going to pretend you're not going before you give in?"

Chloe pursed her lips in chagrin. He did know her too well sometimes.

"Come on." He urged her toward the elevator. "I'll tell you the rest on the way to the office."

* * *

><p>There was a town car waiting for them in front of the building and Chloe wondered when Oliver had signaled for one to be brought around. The secrets of billionaire living, she supposed. The driver got out to open the door, but Oliver waved him back as well as the doorman. He opened the rear door himself and let Chloe slide in first. He then followed quickly.<p>

Chloe watched him as he got in the car. He didn't make a sound, but he wrapped his hands around his damaged chest and held very still. He did that practiced meditative breathing again, which caused the driver to look at him worriedly.

"Are you all right, Mr. Queen?"

There was an awkward pause before Oliver answered, "Fine, thanks," hiding it all again. The driver looked uncertain, but Oliver ignored it and added, "Luthorcorp, please, Abe. We're in a hurry."

"Yes, sir." The driver immediately faced forward and pulled out into traffic, although he still didn't look pleased with the situation.

Chloe gave Oliver a glance, asking if it was ok to talk in front of the chauffeur to which Oliver simply responded, "Ok, we only have a few minutes. Let me catch you up."

"I'm listening." She also pulled out her touchpad, ready to look up any extra information through Watchtower.

"A few months ago, my team shut down a set of accounts that were attached to some sort of recycling program."

Chloe couldn't help smirking. "I thought you were all about going green, Ollie?"

Oliver looked amused, but he said, "We think it was being used to launder money. Lex had a deal with the man running the 'recycling' and got rather impressive kickbacks for the service being provided."

"Name?"

"Anthony Moretti."

Chloe shook her head in annoyance, already typing in the name and scrolling through the first bits of information to show up. "Leave it to Lex to get in bed with the mob. So what happened?"

"At first, we received a few friendly overtures for sweetening the deal if we would allow the system to remain in place."

Chloe knew that with how closely Oliver guarded his father's reputation, that hadn't set well with him.

"After that I received a few phone calls from Moretti's upper management urging me to reconsider. The first few I politely told to take a hike. The last one…" He raised an eyebrow. "I was through being polite."

"And then?"

"Then Mr. Moretti himself came to see me. He assured me he was a legitimate business man, to which I responded that if he was legit, then I was running a Turkish bath."

"Way to smooth things over."

"Yeah," he admitted. "In any case, he quickly dropped the act. He's been causing problems with our other projects, construction problems, holding up contracts, with promises that all the issues would be cleared up if we would just reinstate the recycling program." Oliver grinned. "I promptly took all of our evidence to the justice department. They're preparing all sorts of good things for Mr. Moretti, but until then we have to play it cool."

If Chloe had to guess, Green Arrow was also making life a little difficult for Mr. Moretti and his people. "What brought on the attack?"

Oliver shrugged and immediately clenched his teeth at the resulting pain. "Last ditch effort to convince me, I think," he said breathlessly. "Make it hurt personally. Not just my pocketbook."

"They must know they didn't kill you."

"That won't get them what they want," Oliver said. "Which is why they've taken Debra."

"Who is she?"

"She's one of my senior VPs. She's been with the company for years and she's one of my top people. She was also head of the team that conducted the audit."

Chloe saw that he was clenching his fists, clearly furious that these people had taken someone who worked for him and he hadn't been there to stop it. "We'll get her back," she assured him.

"I know," he stated firmly, as if trying to convince himself to believe it. Oliver would know as well as she did how often people disappeared and were never seen again when they crossed a mob boss.

"They won't hurt her," Chloe observed. "Not yet at least. They need her as a hostage to make you do what they want. It's once they have it that she'll be in the most danger."

Oliver simply nodded. "They've already made their point with me. Taking Debra was just insurance."

"They think you're only a playboy, Oliver, just another pretty face with too much money. They're counting on you to cave."

Oliver smirked. "A pretty face with too much money. You say that like it's a bad thing."

Chloe raised an eyebrow. "I didn't even mention the inflated ego."

"It's necessary to keep the underlings in their place."

"Underlings?" She couldn't help laughing.

He made a show of raising his nose in the air. "You know. The rabble. The riff raff. The peasants."

Chloe gave an overly dramatic sigh. "It must be so difficult for you being so lofty with so many of us undeserving commoners around."

Oliver smile seemed to drift away. His eyes darkened, all of his attention suddenly focused on her. The interior of the spacious car seemed to shrink and the temperature to rise. "You are anything but common, Chloe."

Distance, she warned herself. She had to keep her distance, or Oliver would reel her in as surely as she was breathing. "Nope." She laughed, but there was a definite warning in her tone. "I'm a peon, and proud of it."

The heat in Oliver's eyes faded at the rebuff, but he accepted the reminder that their arrangement allowed him only so much leeway when they were together.

The chauffeur's voice snapped them both out of it. "We're here, Mr. Queen."

"Thank you, Abe. Usual rules apply."

"Yes, sir." The man replied easily. "If I tell anyone what I heard you'll have to kill me."

Oliver chuckled and Chloe realized it must be an old joke between them. "You can have the rest of the evening off, Abe. It's already late and we'll take a cab back."

"Thank you," Abe said, surprised. "I don't mind waiting." He was watching Oliver worriedly, and eyeing the ribs that his boss was clearly favoring as he opened the door and moved to step out.

"Go home. Say hi to your wife for me."

"I will." The man frowned unhappily. "Be careful, Mr. Queen." Chloe wasn't the only one who knew Oliver pushed himself too far.

Oliver stepped out of the car and had to use a hand to lean against it momentarily while he caught his breath. Chloe hurried to get out as well. She needed to get him into the building and sitting down before he fell down.

Chloe leaned back into the car. "Thank you. I promise I'll take care of him."

"Easier said than done," Abe replied, but he nodded his acceptance. He faced forward again and when Chloe closed the door, he merged back into traffic and was gone.

"He was my parents' driver," Oliver offered. "He worries."

Chloe took his arm and began walking him into the building. "He came with you from Star City?"

"I rent a place for him and his wife in the city. They enjoy the occasional change of pace now that their kids are all grown."

He said it as if it were perfectly normal for a man to have personal servants who were loyal enough to follow him from city to city and who cared enough to worry when he was obviously ill. Chloe was fairly certain Lex's servants would just as soon push him down the stairs as help him up.

As they approached the doors, Oliver straightened away from her, visibly pushing back the pain.

"You ready to face the perils of corporate America?"

Chloe looked up at the towering building front and suddenly felt nervous, although she refused to let it show. She'd rarely been inside the building since she and the Luthors had become mortal enemies, and since Oliver had taken over, almost never. When she spoke with Oliver it was on the phone or over the radios. If she saw him in person it was at Watchtower, or more rarely at his home.

It occurred to her as she looked up at the building, that this was Oliver's world, his other world, one to which he dedicated a majority of his time. Yet, how much did she really know about it?

Chloe slapped on a confident smile. "I'm ready if you are."

One of the security guards inside must have seen them coming because he opened the door and stepped aside so they could enter. "Good afternoon, Mr. Queen."

Oliver nodded in response, but he was looking at Chloe. "Just follow my lead."

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><p><em>More soon…<em>


	5. Chapter 5

**Good Fences**

Summary: Post Conspiracy. Things go from bad to worse when Oliver and Chloe still can't quite make up.

_Today, Oliver gets his CEO groove on... I do love a man in a suit._

Chapter Five

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><p>The change in Oliver as the elevator rose was subtle. Oliver was always so… Oliver. He was confidence and swagger, always fearless, yet charming with a definite twinkle in his eye. Even when he was suited up as Green Arrow, he was still pretty much Oliver with a voice modulator, just more edge to him, a forewarning of danger behind the humor that he used like armor.<p>

Now she saw him changing again. The confidence was still there, but it was a more serious Oliver who emerged from the elevator. There was no danger, but much of the playfulness was gone and she supposed this was his business face.

When the elevator opened there was a corridor full of people waiting for them. Every head turned, every worried, expectant face looking to Oliver for answers even though he had only just arrived. Several of them cast speculative glances in her direction, but then were right back to Oliver.

"All right, people," Oliver said loudly, even though he already had their attention. "I need Joseph, David, Joan and Mark in my office. Wes," he pointed to a middle-aged man on his left, "I need you to contact our security specialists. Meg, coordinate with Wes. Your people will probably be the most vulnerable. I don't care what it costs. I want everyone covered from level eight up, twenty-four hours a day until this is resolved. That includes everyone's families. I don't want someone's kid getting snatched because that's all these people can get to."

Oliver stopped and let his gaze pass over the small crowd. "The rest of you, I want back at your desks, business as usual. I need Debra's projects covered until we get her back. Mike, you coordinate that." His expression became stern. "I want a total media blackout on this. If Debra gets hurt because someone couldn't keep their mouth shut, that person will have to deal with me. Is that understood?"

There was a series of nods from everyone, as well as a chorus of, "Yes, sir" from several of them.

"Good." Oliver then strode into his office as if he hadn't been nearly cut to pieces the night before. Honestly, Chloe didn't know how he was still standing. She also had to wonder how often his top management had seen Oliver in this state. It couldn't be the first time Oliver had been forced to work injured. He was only human and his night job wasn't exactly easy.

The people Oliver had designated were following him into his office by the time Chloe realized she was being left behind and she hustled into the office after them. By then, she saw that Oliver was already behind his desk. He sat down heavily and promptly lost most of the color he'd gained during his rally-the-troops speech. She saw the muscles in his jaw clench, and mentally kicked herself for not finding him some sort of pain medication before they'd embarked on this little venture. She didn't know how long what they'd given him at the hospital would last.

"Do we have video of the kidnapping?" Oliver asked.

"Yes, sir," one of the men said, a younger executive wearing an expensive suit. Not as expensive as what Oliver was wearing, but definitely not off the rack from Penney's. "Everything we have should have been e-mailed to you."

"Chloe?"

She startled at being singled out, and then flushed as every single eye in the room zeroed in on her. She really needed to get out more. She was losing the knack of dealing with people in person. These days, human contact was a little disconcerting, especially when the contact was served up, as in this case, with a definite side of anger and suspicion.

Oliver waved her closer, then again for her to come around his desk when she stopped too far away. "Pull up what they've sent. See if you can find anything that will help us."

She nodded and pulled out her touchpad, quickly hacking Oliver's account and pulling up the files. She set Watchtower to work, running facial recognition software, then setting it to track the vehicle that had been used to kidnap the woman using traffic cams, security footage, etc.

"Mr. Queen?"

Chloe looked up to see one of the other execs watching her. He was an older man, balding, more sure of himself than the younger man, or at least he was a great believer in his own importance.

"Yes?"

"May we ask who this person is?" He definitely managed to make it sound insulting.

"I have a team on the ground that specializes in corporate kidnappings. _This person_ is an information specialist who has worked with them before. She will liaise with them, passing on anything pertinent that will help them. She came highly qualified and highly recommended. Is that all right with you, Mark?" Oliver's tone was light, but there was steel behind it, and the other man quickly understood that his boss was not in the mood and not happy at being questioned.

"Of course," he said quickly.

"Good." Oliver's eyes swept over the small group. "Now who wants to tell me why the security protocols we already put in place weren't followed?"

The group of people shuffled, and Chloe had the distinct feeling she was looking at a bunch of kids who'd been called into the principal's office. Several glances passed between them, followed by more shuffling and some throat clearing.

"I'm waiting," Oliver snapped. "Because I distinctly remember our agreeing that until we had this situation handled, no one, and I mean no one was supposed to be alone. Why wasn't Debra met at the airport? Security should have been waiting at the gate. She was specifically threatened before."

That got Chloe's attention. Oliver had given her a thumbnail sketch of what had been happening, but she wondered just how long Oliver had been dealing with this and not told her.

"It's my fault, Mr. Queen."

Oliver's steely gaze turned on the remaining male exec. "What happened?"

The man, a dark-haired thirty-something suit cleared his throat nervously. "Our meeting went long, and Debra's flight was changed. I was supposed to notify the security people, and… and we just got our wires crossed."

Oliver rubbed a hand over his face tiredly. "Ok. This isn't helping." He sat back in his chair and shook his head. "Joan?"

"Yes, sir?" Joan was a graying blonde woman in her fifties, who looked like she took no guff from anyone. It was actually a bit odd to see someone like her calling Oliver "sir," but Chloe could tell that she seemed to respect him.

"Can you tell me whether Debra's trip was successful?"

"Yes, sir. The acquisition papers have been signed and turned over to legal. The preliminaries still look good and we believe we can make it viable within twelve months. My team will be ready to go in and start an evaluation next week. We hope to have recommendations for you the week after that."

Oliver nodded and then looked up at her, startling her yet again. "Anything?" he asked, and Chloe realized that despite the shop talk Oliver had never stopped concentrating on the most pressing matter which was his missing employee.

"Give me a few more minutes and I may." She had a definite route for the van the woman had been dragged into, but she hadn't tracked it to its destination yet.

"All right." Oliver stood up from his chair, covering the pain he was in by lowering his head and straightening his suit coat and tie. "The same rules go for you as for everyone else. Media blackout and no one tells the Feds, at least not until my team," he nodded toward Chloe, "has done its work. You focus on business as usual. I will handle this. Are we clear?"

Once again, he was met by a chorus of "yes, sir's." Oliver was so in his element, that Chloe was tempted to nod her agreement as well.

For a moment, Chloe simply looked at Oliver, and it was almost like looking at him for the first time. She was acquainted with Oliver, playboy billionaire. She knew Oliver, guilt-ridden, issue-laden, suicidal alcoholic. She knew Green Arrow and plain, confident Oliver who she dealt with day in and day out. Very rarely, she met Ollie, an orphaned boy who loved to play with toys and just wanted to make the planet safer for other children to grow up.

Looking at him now, however, standing behind his desk and speaking to his employees who were high-powered businesspeople in their own right, Chloe realized that she'd never actually seen this part of his life. He'd said she knew everything about him, but this man, Oliver Queen CEO, she'd never really taken the time to consider. She'd never appreciated the dedication and obvious business acumen it required to manage such an empire or the absolute power he wielded, and how naturally it seemed to come to him.

Oliver had been born into wealth and power, but this… No one had been there to teach him this. His father had been long dead when Oliver had taken the reins of Queen Industries. Time he should have spent learning the ropes, he had instead spent on a desert island just trying to stay alive. And yet here he was, completely at home, fully in charge of all he surveyed.

"Ok, guys. Go on," he said more gently. "If everything goes as planned we'll have Debra back before quitting time."

Chloe looked at the time on her computer. It was nearly quitting time already. It had been just after noon when she'd found Oliver and then they'd spent a few hours at the hospital. They'd barely been at the penthouse, however, before they'd been forced back into action. Now that she thought of it, Chloe's head was spinning at how quickly the situation had turned into this mess of an afternoon.

"It's going to be ok," he assured them again. "Just stick with the security protocols until this is over."

His team, looking properly chastened, quickly exited the room. Before the door had even closed behind them, he'd sat back down and picked up the phone. Chloe simply waited, watching him and watching her screen as Watchtower did its work.

After what seemed like several long moments, someone finally picked up the call on the other end and Oliver said, "Mr. Moretti, please. Tell him Oliver Queen is calling."

"Are you crazy?" Chloe hissed.

Oliver just grinned. "It's part of my charm."

"What's the other part?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Brilliance? Nerve? Superior planning?"

Chloe made a huffing noise, letting him know just what she thought of his charm. She was far more interested, however, to know what Oliver was actually up to. There was a definite twinkle in his eye.

Oliver straightened slightly and Chloe guessed someone had come on the line. She also saw Oliver flinch at the movement, and close his eyes briefly.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Moretti. This is Oliver Queen." He waited for a response, and Chloe saw his jaw clench in anger, although his tone was perfectly even when he responded. "I'm feeling fine. Thank you for asking." There was a pause and then he said, "I'm actually calling for a reason. I believe you have something that belongs to me." Once again, he listened for a few seconds, then said, "We should meet. In person. We have a few things we need to discuss." He nodded even though his opponent couldn't see him. "Yes, that's fine. I'll have my assistant make the arrangements."

After hanging up with Moretti and then spending several moments speaking with his assistant, Oliver set his phone down, and promptly wilted back against the chair. He looked tired, so, so tired, and part of Chloe wanted to go to him and soothe him somehow, assure him it would all be ok. Another part of her, the part of her that was in iron control of her actions, kept her firmly where she was. They were friends, colleagues. Coworkers didn't soothe, or even touch. Granted they didn't sleep together either. Chloe's job was to find the kidnapped woman. It wasn't to look after Oliver's welfare, not anymore than she did for the other members of the league. She certainly didn't feel like wrapping her arms around Victor, or Bart when they looked like the job was taking a toll on them.

"So what was that about?" Chloe demanded.

"I have a dinner date with Anthony Moretti."

"And?" Normal dinner time for the rich and shameless was only a few hours away.

"And we'd better have Debra back in safe hands by then or this plan is going to go south."

"What plan?"

Oliver looked at her straightly. "Do you have something or not? We're kind of under a time crunch here."

"Oliver, you can't…"

"Do you have something?" he said, his tone no-nonsense.

"Maybe," she said. "Probably." Oliver made a waving motion, telling her to go on. "I tracked the van they took her in. It went into a building not far from the airport. There are a couple of vehicles parked there now that are registered to one of the businesses Moretti's been linked to, but the van is gone."

"Does Moretti own the building?"

She shrugged. "It's a holding company, but give me some time I'm sure I could tie it to him."

"Don't bother. Just send the address to my phone." Oliver stood, bracing his hands on his desk. "Let's go."

"Go where?"

Oliver just walked around the desk, picking up his discarded cell phone from the table where he'd left it the night before. He led her into what proved to be an executive size washroom, complete with shower, dressing room and closet. Chloe was almost certain it was bigger than her apartment at the Talon. Oliver didn't pause, however. He walked straight to the back, flipped open a hidden panel and punched a series of numbers into a keypad.

A much larger panel in the wall slid open, revealing a small space that bore no resemblance to the sleek office they'd come from. This small space was serviceable, but Spartan, almost like a utility closet. To one side, there was a locker that appeared to be the twin of the locker Oliver had at Watchtower for a set of spare gear. On the other side she saw what looked to be a small elevator.

"Lex had it installed. I think it was so he could come and go with no one any the wiser."

"Or in case there was some sort of attack," Chloe suggested. "Paranoia is a mild word for what the Luthors were."

Oliver nodded at her assessment. "Maybe." He smirked. "Of course, I've had it modified a bit."

Chloe rolled her eyes. "Billionaires and their toys." She turned back to Oliver and realized that while she was distracted taking in Oliver's mini secret lair, Oliver had begun undressing. "What are you doing?"

"Here." Oliver handed her his phone. He groaned as he pulled off his shirt and threw it to one side, then reached for his belt. Chloe immediately placed her hands over his, the backs of her fingers pressed against his abdomen inside his waistband.

"Chloe, if you wanted to get in my pants-"

"Knock it off, Romeo," she ordered flatly. "If you think I'm about to let you go out there and get yourself killed-"

Oliver's eyes narrowed and he turned his hands, grasping hers and lifting them away. "_Let_ me?" For a moment, she saw a dangerous glint in his eye, and had she been a lesser woman, she'd have backed away. It was a reminder, however, that this wasn't a boy she was dealing with. This was a man, and not one to be trifled with. He wasn't Jimmy who had still been a boy when he died, a boy finally coming into his own, but still a boy. Nor was he Clark with all of his insecurities, and worries. Oliver was a man who was confident of his place in the world.

"Chloe," he frowned, "I can do this job on my own. I was doing it _long_ before you were ever Watchtower. I was going out every night, by myself. I don't have to have a guardian angel whispering in my ear at every turn. What do you think I've been doing this past week?"

Chloe's eyes widened. She hadn't considered that while she and Oliver were on the outs, he was still going out and patrolling. He just hadn't been speaking to her on the comms. He'd gone back to doing it how he'd done it for years before he even met her. He'd done it on his own, and for some reason that hurt as much as anything else.

He must have seen something on her face because his tone softened. "I _like_ having my guardian angel, I do. But part of why we get along so well is that we're so much alike. You like being in control of what's going on. Well, guess what. So do I. I don't like being backed into a corner and I don't like being told what I can and cannot do. Call me a spoiled brat, but that's the way it is."

"So what does that mean?"

"It means this isn't the first time I've worked injured. My employee is in danger because of _my_ choices and I am going to get her back, whether you are prepared to help me or not."

"You're right," she said, pursing her lips. Oliver raised an eyebrow. "You are a spoiled brat."

There was a pause and then abruptly, Oliver laughed. He followed that up by gasping loudly and doubling over.

Chloe immediately stepped up and put her arm around him, an electric shock of awareness zinging through her at the touch of his bare skin to hers. "Oliver," she whispered. "This is insane."

He shook his head. "Maybe. But also necessary."

Finally, Chloe came to a decision. She knew how much independence Oliver gave her, and she knew it was done purposely. He never pulled rank, even though he was definitely the leader who'd allowed her into his world. He recognized Watchtower as her domain, and let her run it how she saw fit, even thought he was the one pouring millions into it. He never crowded. Even now, with their arrangement, when many other men would have announced to the world that she was taken, or somehow marked their territory, Oliver hadn't. He let her march at her pace. He respected how she wanted what was going on between them to proceed. While he claimed he like being in control, in essence, he had allowed her to take the lead. He pressed sometimes, but as soon as she got uncomfortable, he backed off.

The only exception was this last little blip on their radar when he'd learned about the missing money. Then he'd pushed. Then he'd crowded. When he thought she'd betrayed his trust and the independence he'd given her. Yet, he'd accepted her explanation. She'd hurt him badly, and he'd forgiven her. It was why she was here with him now. She was the only one he trusted this close to him for something that wasn't a League-level disaster. He was trusting her with a personal disaster.

He respected her that much. She could do the same.

Chloe nodded, coming to a decision. "What do you want me to do?"

"I need to wrap my chest. I can do it myself, but it's easier with some help."

Chloe nodded, and waited while Oliver produced something from within the case. It wasn't an ace wrap, but it was something akin to it, only if Chloe had to guess, it was custom fitted to Oliver. Apparently, he'd worked hurt often enough that he'd had a support made.

Oliver pulled his normal sleeveless black t-shirt on over his bandaged chest, then let Chloe help him into the wrap that fit snuggly around his chest and even over his shoulders, offering sturdy support. The result looked like a cross between a tight, elastic wet suit and a thin bulletproof vest.

After that, she helped him pull on his leather pants, followed by his leather tunic. It was more awkward than it had been helping him dress in his apartment. Oliver's uniform was skin tight, and while she'd taken great pleasure in exploring his body on other occasions, this was different. Her mind wasn't clouded by lust. She was conscious of every single move she made, every touch, every brush of his skin against hers, his weight when he put a hand on her shoulder for balance.

Next she moved around him, helping him with his gear, and the tension between them seemed to grow higher and higher. For all the times that she'd been with Oliver, in his arms, in his bed, as physically close as it was possible for a man and a women to be, this was somehow more intimate. Sliding her hands around his waist, making sure everything was in place, weapons Oliver would need to keep him alive, weapons he had personally designed and that he'd never let anyone else near, let alone touch. She slid his gloved wrist guards over his hands, securing them carefully, his hand in hers, their breaths mingling as she stood so close.

Finally, Chloe stepped back and brought out a pair of his glasses and held them out to him. Rather than taking them, however, Oliver suddenly reached out, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her to him. He kissed her roughly, almost desperately, and Chloe was suddenly afraid, both at the intimacy and at the knowledge that Oliver was saying goodbye, just in case.

"Ollie," she said breathlessly when he'd pulled away, resting his forehead against hers, his arms still wrapped around her.

"Go to Watchtower." His voice was ragged. "I may need an eye in the sky."

"All right. But if you get in trouble, I'm calling Clark." She had to verbally place some distance between them, because as much as she wanted to, she couldn't seem to get any other kind of distance at the moment. She was too worried for him. It was hard to be confident, business-like Chloe when she was sending him out to get hurt again. "Don't think I won't call him."

"This is my shindig," he replied. "I'm not up to being lectured by Clark 'where's the party so I can poop on it' Kent."

Chloe mustered her courage, putting on her game face. She stepped back and once again handed him his glasses as well as his phone. "Be careful," she ordered. If he got in trouble, she would call Clark whether he liked it or not and they both knew it.

"Don't look so worried." He slipped the glasses on, pulled his hood up and grinned. If she hadn't known he was ready to keel over, she never would have guessed. "I have to get back in one piece." Oliver clicked on the voice modulator and headed for the secret elevator. "I've got a hot date tonight."

"You do?" Chloe couldn't help it. She wanted to grin. There was a reason Oliver never had trouble getting women. He was disgustingly charming.

Oliver's grin broadened. "My doctor says I'm injured. Pretty sure I need someone to kiss it. Make it all better."

The voice modulator lowered his voice, and it was enough to send a frisson of pleasure skittering across her skin. "And you think that someone is me?"

Chloe couldn't see his eyes behind the glasses, but suddenly she could feel every bit of his attention focused on her with laser-like precision. She'd never understood how one man could manage to seem perfectly normal one second and radiate sex the next. "I'll see you tonight, Sullivan," he said, and Chloe wasn't sure if it was a warning or a promise.

Then he was gone. The door on the little elevator closed and Chloe was suddenly alone. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Heroes. They were all insane.

* * *

><p><em>More soon…<em>


	6. Chapter 6

**Good Fences**

Summary: Post Conspiracy. Things go from bad to worse when Oliver and Chloe still can't quite make up.

_Pardon the delay. It requires a great deal of encouragement to make me give up my Sunday afternoon nap and the nap won._

Chapter Six

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><p>Chloe backed out of Oliver's mini-lair, as she was going to call it from now on, made sure the doorway was properly secured and then quickly left the office. She got several curious glances and she wondered if any of them recognized her from past visits to see one of the Luthors. It didn't matter, really. She wasn't Chloe Sullivan now. She was Watchtower and one of her heroes was on a mission. She knew Oliver would be travelling fast. She had to get to Watchtower and be just as quick about it.<p>

Chloe quickly hailed a cab and jumped in, giving the address for the office building beside Watchtower. As the taxi merged into traffic, Chloe pulled up blueprints for the place Oliver's employee was being held and sent them to him. She then searched for every camera in the vicinity that she could access. She also set Watchtower to work finding every scrap of information on Anthony Moretti and every known member of his organization.

By the time Chloe walked through the doors to Watchtower, the screens were filled with every bit of information she would need. Some were still tracking Bart, A.C., Victor and Dinah who were all on missions elsewhere, but the majority was now dedicated to Oliver's rescue mission.

Directly in front of her, she had the video feed from Oliver's glasses. The picture was marginal at best, constantly cutting in and out, and she knew he was on his motorcycle heading for the building. He was moving at breakneck speed, and she wondered how he was holding up. The custom bike was built for a strong, healthy man to be riding and the sitting position as well as the jarring wouldn't be doing any favors for Oliver's stitches. Even now the only sound she could hear above the Ducati's engine was his harsh breathing, sawing in and out. Chloe badly wanted to ask how he was doing, but she knew it would require him to answer and he didn't need the distraction.

After only a few more minutes, Chloe saw from her tracking program that he was approaching the area where the woman was being held. Oliver guided the bike behind a building about a block away. He got off the motorcycle and for a moment held very still. Chloe couldn't see, but she guessed he was leaning against the building for support.

Finally, she couldn't take it any longer. "Arrow?"

"I'm fine," he said curtly. "What can you tell me?"

"Not much," she informed him. "There are too many cars parked on the street. There's no telling how many people are inside. There's only one car parked in the driveway now."

Chloe could barely see the building itself. The area had no traffic cameras close enough to see it, and the only thing she could hack was the security system of a bank down the street which gave her an odd view, but it was the best she had.

Oliver looked down and after a moment of staring at the grainy video she realized he was studying his phone, going over the layout of the building. It was a two story brick house built sometime in the 30s. It had been a family home, then several different businesses before the holding company had bought it. Since then, according to the records, it hadn't actually been lived in or used commercially. If she had to guess, it was either a place for meetings, or for people to hide out, or in this case, to make someone disappear.

After only a few moments, Oliver seemed to have committed the layout to memory and he put the phone away. Seconds later he was on the move. He snuck behind the houses and businesses lining the block. As he approached the house, he stopped and climbed the fire stairwell of the building next door. From there he climbed onto the roof, stepped back and then took a running leap onto the house, aiming for the stone chimney to keep from making too much noise as he landed and alerting those inside. The roof had a steep pitch and Oliver immediately used something Chloe couldn't see to dig into it to keep from sliding right back off and falling two stories to the ground.

Oliver's harsh breathing was loud in Chloe's ears, but once again, she chose not to distract him. He worked his way to one side of the roof, finally scooting and leaning out over the roof's edge to the waist. He leaned down and using another tool from his stash, dug it into one of the wooden window sills and slid the window open. It required bending like something from Cirque de Soleil, but Oliver managed to slide through the window and landed in a crouch.

"I'm in," he whispered, and Chloe couldn't help but hear the pain in his voice.

"Roger that."

"And next time I try to pull this macho Lone Ranger thing," he added tightly, "just strap me to the bed and drug me 'til I'm not so stupid."

"I could hit you with another truck," she suggested helpfully.

"At this point, I'd be ok with that," he returned. Nevertheless, Chloe saw that he stood and moved carefully toward the door of the small room he'd entered. It was probably a bedroom originally, but now it was empty except for a few boxes stacked against the wall.

Oliver eased the door open, halting momentarily when it squeaked on poorly oiled hinges. When no one came hurtling up the stairs, he opened it the rest of the way. He carefully stepped out of the bedroom and she saw he was standing on a landing. Oliver drew his crossbow and quickly searched the other rooms upstairs, finding only more boxes and a few pieces of ancient furniture.

Oliver headed for the stairs and after that he was a blur of movement. It never ceased to amaze Chloe how fast he was and at times she had to remind herself he was only human. Oliver was down the stairs in a heartbeat. He moved from room to room clearing them. In two rooms, he found one of Moretti's thugs and before they even had the chance to react, Oliver had put an arrow in their chests. They weren't Taser arrows, either. Apparently, Green Arrow was pissed. They weren't kill shots, but he wanted these people down for the count. Chloe made a mental note to send an ambulance when she alerted the police.

Chloe tried to keep track of what Oliver was seeing, but in truth, there was a reason she didn't watch missions through Oliver's eyes. The video was so fast and shaky, it was usually nauseating. This was no exception, but because it was all she had, Chloe stayed with it, trying to make out what he was doing.

Finally, all of the rooms were clear but one, yet Oliver refused to slow down. Never giving the thugs a chance to orient themselves to the fact that they were under attack, Oliver kicked the last door open. Chloe's eyes widened when she saw a gun aimed at her/Oliver's head. The barrel of the gun seemed huge, but Oliver never hesitated. He batted the gun to one side as it discharged and Chloe could only pray that the shot had gone wide.

The thug immediately moved closer, bringing up his fists and swinging blindly. Oliver took a blow to his ribs, and Chloe heard the air leave his lungs in a whoosh, but it didn't seem to slow him down. In a matter of seconds, he had the man on the floor. Out of the corner of her screen, Chloe saw movement, and Oliver had obviously seen more than she had. He ducked, and when he came back up, Chloe realized his opponent had some piece of broken furniture he was swinging for all he was worth. Oliver snatched the makeshift bat away and brought it down on his attacker hard enough that the man dropped like a rock.

Oliver scanned the room to make sure there was no one else who would harm him, then his gaze settled on a woman who was crouched in the far corner. She was in business clothes, dark slacks and a now rumpled shirt, huddled in a ball, trying to make herself as small as she could.

Oliver strode toward her and knelt down. "Debra?"

The woman flinched at the sound of Oliver's distorted voice, and tried to curl into herself more tightly. "Please," she begged. "Just don't hurt me."

"It's all right Debra," he said as kindly as he could, which wasn't that easy with the modulator still on. "Oliver Queen sent me to find you."

At that, the woman paused, her sobbing, hitched breaths tailing off. "What?"

"Oliver Queen told me what happened. I'm here to take you home."

Finally, it seemed to get through. The woman slowly brought her hands down that she'd been using to protect her face and head. She was puffy-eyed from crying. Her makeup was smudged and she had a bruise forming on the left side of her face. Nevertheless, Chloe quickly realized that Debbie the trusted senior VP wasn't the older battleaxe businesswoman she'd been expecting. Debra was a beautiful raven-haired woman in her early thirties. Didn't Oliver have any women in his life who weren't stunning?

"Oliver sent you?" she said, and there was such trust in that one sentence. Once again Chloe couldn't help but think that by ignoring Oliver's work at Queen Industries, she'd somehow missed a vital part of his life and what made him tick.

Chloe couldn't see it, but she knew Oliver was wearing a smirk. "Billionaires," he said, his tone mocking. "I'm still not sure how he got my number, but he's a hard man to refuse."

The woman used her expensive designer sleeve to wipe her dirty, tear-stained face, and then she smiled, even laughed a little. "He can convince sheep to buy wool." Oliver chuckled with her and Chloe felt a very odd sensation unfurling in her chest. It took her several seconds of staring at the woman before she realized what it was. At first, she denied it was even possible. Then she decided it was unacceptable. Yet, there it was, as she continued to stare at the grainy video of the striking woman in front of Oliver.

Jealousy, plain and simple.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his anger toward the kidnappers sneaking back into his tone. "Did they hurt you?" He reached up and his gloved fingers hovered over the bruise on her face, almost touching.

"No, I'm… I'm ok." She let out a shuddering breath and Chloe saw that she was crying again quietly, now in relief.

Oliver helped the woman to her feet. She wobbled a bit and he held onto her tightly, then the woman unexpectedly threw her arms around his neck and hugged him. Rationally, Chloe knew she was a traumatized woman who was grateful that this person, no matter how strange, had come to her rescue. Less rationally, all Chloe could think was this woman, who was unbelievably, stunningly beautiful, whom Oliver saw daily at his work, had her arms around Ollie, her Ollie, and thanks to the fact that she was apparently model tall, she didn't even have to stretch like Chloe did.

Oliver stepped back, although he kept his hands on the woman's shoulders. "Ready to get out of here?"

"Yes."

Oliver offered her a hand and led her out of the house in a far more conventional manner than how he'd entered. He hurried down the back alley toward his motorcycle.

"I'm on my way back," Oliver said, and Chloe realized he was talking to her. "I'll meet you in thirty minutes."

"Where?" she asked.

"My place after I drop Debra off with the police."

"Watchtower clear," she replied, and severed the link. She didn't think she could stand any more visuals. At that very moment, she knew the woman was getting on the bike behind Oliver. She was wrapping her arms around him, her thighs gripping his hips, her breasts pressed into his back.

Chloe shook her head, angry with herself. Oliver was not hers and she was not his. She belonged to exactly one person, herself, and no man or woman could change that. So she had a good time with Oliver. It didn't matter in the grand scheme of things. She was not going to be sucked into anything she didn't want to be, and she was _not_ in a relationship. She was stronger than that. She could take what she wanted and walk away. She was never, _never_ going to be vulnerable like that again.

Ordering herself to quit even thinking about it, Chloe spent several more minutes going over the information she'd found on Anthony Moretti. He was one of the largest crime bosses in Metropolis. He had his fingers in all sorts of pies, from drugs and prostitution, protection schemes, to all sorts of legitimate businesses, although how those businesses were run was shady at best.

The one thing she didn't have any information on was the man who'd attacked Oliver in the parking garage. She'd never got a good look at his face. Moretti had a bevy of known enforcers who were all on the police watch list, but somehow she got the feeling this guy wasn't one of them. He'd been too good at avoiding the cameras in the parking garage. She got the feeling he was hired especially for the job.

Chloe looked at the time and realized she'd managed to get lost in her research as she was wont to do. Even if Oliver was late, he would beat her back to the Clocktower. Chloe gathered up her things and dashed toward the door.

* * *

><p>Chloe stepped out of the elevator and saw that the door to the secret room was open. She peeked inside and noted that Oliver's gear was in a special case, she supposed to be transported back to his office, but he wasn't there. Worry beginning to prickle along her spine, she hurried toward his room and found Oliver sitting on the edge of his bed. He was wearing a fresh set of suit pants, but was fighting with the shirt, although she noticed that he was still wearing the custom fitted support rig he'd been wearing beneath his leathers.<p>

For a moment, she felt her resolve weakening to remain distant. It was such a pathetic sight, a bit like a two year old fighting with his clothes when he couldn't quite get them on. He looked so frustrated. It was cute, and so… Ollie.

Then she remembered the rest. She inwardly practiced her "I am woman. Hear me roar," speech. She made sure her expression was all confident neutrality. Oliver was a lot of fun, but she would not let this spider lure her any farther into the web he was weaving.

"So," she said, smirk firmly in place, "how's that lone wolf thing working out for you?"

Oliver paused, obviously not having realized she was there. "I'd give it a solid 7 at best, but the Russian judge gave me an 8."

Chloe's eyes narrowed. "Well, the American judge still says the entire performance needed help. She also says your dismount was lacking." She nodded toward his arm where Oliver had hastily wrapped a bandage around it. Apparently that last shot hadn't gone quite wide enough and he'd been grazed.

"My dismount?" Oliver gave up on putting the shirt on. He stood and stalked toward her with all of the lean-muscled, leonine grace of a true predator. His gaze was trained on her and Chloe suddenly felt like a gazelle that was being hunted. Her heart sped up and every instinct she had said to run, but she couldn't. She wouldn't. This was Oliver and she refused to let him think he had the upper hand in their relationship.

Oliver reached her and, despite her best intentions, instinctively she backed up into the wall. He stepped forward again, his large hands wrapping around her hips, pulling her close. She looked up into his eyes, and while the playfulness was still there, it was banked, his eyes darkened with lust.

"I'll have you know," his voice was a mere whisper, "that I have _never_ had any complaints about my _dismount_."

And with his body pressed to hers, his arms around her, his breath brushing across her suddenly overheated skin, Chloe had absolutely no doubts about _any_ of his gymnastic skills.

"I always," his hand drifted across her breast, drawing a gasp from Chloe, "make sure _everyone_ is pleased with the performance, start… to finish."

"I…" Chloe gasped again when his lips caressed her neck just below her ear. "I've heard that about you." A shudder of desire raced across her skin and Chloe reached out for him, relying on him to keep her on her feet.

Abruptly, Oliver hissed, only it wasn't the reaction she'd been hoping for. He backed up and very carefully removed her fingers from his arm where she'd grasped him, unknowingly hitting the fresh bullet wound.

"I'm so sorry," Chloe exclaimed, the haze lifting as quickly as it had appeared. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth. After another few seconds he opened his eyes and she saw they were bright with pain although he was doing his best to hide it. She was so used to dealing with Clark who, even if he was hurt, bounced back almost immediately. Oliver was human and he healed at human speed, even if he often seemed capable of so much more.

Chloe couldn't seem to take her eyes from the bandage, a hint of red now visible against the white. He could be gone, taken from her so easily. Just like Jimmy.

Chloe blinked, ordering images away, images of a sandy-haired hero, to her at least, dying in her arms. For her. They were an ever-present warning of what happened when she lost control.

"So," Oliver cleared his throat, "I, uh… I may need a little help getting into my suit."

"Suit?"

"I'm meeting with Moretti. My assistant confirmed the time and location."

She wanted to ask him if he was crazy, but what she asked instead was, "What are you up to?"

Oliver smirked. "What makes you think I'm up to something?"

"You're breathing aren't you?"

Oliver just smiled and turned back toward the bed. He picked up the shirt and once again tried to pull it on without twisting his injured torso. Chloe quickly stepped forward and helped him put it on and she had a moment to wonder if he'd left the support on because he'd done more damage to himself and couldn't risk removing it before he was done with whatever he was planning.

Shaking her head once again at the foolishness of this venture, she nevertheless picked up the tie which looked remarkably similar to the one he'd been wearing earlier. She supposed he'd chosen the second suit and tie purposely. It wouldn't do for him to show up in completely different clothing several times in the same day. People might start to notice and when people noticed, they talked.

This time Oliver didn't even attempt to distract her and she made quick work of the tie. He allowed her to help him into the suit coat and then stood, looking paler than when she'd started. She didn't like it and wondered just how much longer he could keep this up. The fight with the men in the house had to have sapped what miniscule amount of energy he had left. Adrenaline would only get him so far.

"Ready?" he asked.

"What?"

He looked at the closest clock. "I have a meeting and you're just going to follow me if I don't invite you, so…" He let the phrase trail off meaningfully.

Chloe felt a smile tugging at her lips although she tried to stifle it. He really did know her too well sometimes, a truly dangerous thing. It made her… want, want someone close, someone who appreciated who she really was, someone she didn't have to lie to constantly. And where had that gotten her before? Nowhere. Nowhere and alone, wracked with guilt.

Oliver must have seen something in her expression because he frowned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said too quickly. "We were going." Chloe headed for the elevator and after a moment, she heard Oliver follow behind her.

They got into the elevator and, all the way down, the air was tense. Oliver was still frowning, and Chloe had no way of explaining her tumultuous and frustratingly mixed feelings. As a result, they both remained silent and unhappy.

Finally, the elevator reached the bottom floor. The door opened and Oliver motioned for Chloe to lead the way. As soon as she stepped out, however, she was abruptly grabbed from behind. She was forced to turn and face Oliver who was standing poised in the open door to the elevator.

"Move and she's dead," she heard the man growl, and felt a gun pressed into her side.

* * *

><p><em>More soon…<em>


	7. Chapter 7

**Good Fences**

Summary: Post Conspiracy. Things go from bad to worse when Oliver and Chloe still can't quite make up.

_So, evil henchman with a gun… Here we go…_

Chapter Seven

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><p>The man had positioned himself carefully so that the weapon digging into Chloe's ribs was hidden from anyone who might approach. The concierge couldn't help either. He was around the corner and wouldn't see them until they moved toward the front doors.<p>

"I'll have to talk to security about who they let in here," Oliver said quietly, low and angry.

"Shut it, Queen. Let's take this outside." The man's fingers were digging into her arm. He pulled and she had no choice but to follow. Obviously, Oliver had come to the same conclusion. He moved where the gunman motioned and headed toward the rear of the building.

"So you want to tell me what this is about?" Oliver asked.

"It's about you not learning your lesson," the man replied.

"I was never good at paying attention in school. There were so many more fun things to do."

The gunman dug the barrel of the gun into Chloe's side and she gasped, stumbling as he again pushed her forward.

"Chloe?" Oliver's voice was deadly.

"I'm ok," she said, but couldn't hide a wince when the gun was pressed again into her ribs.

"Outside, Mr. Queen," the man ordered, and Oliver obeyed. He pushed the door open and they exited the building into the alley behind it, shielded from view by several large dumpsters.

"Let her go," Oliver said. "I'll do whatever you want. Just let her go."

The man's grip on her arm became punishing to the point Chloe was afraid the bone would snap and she let out an involuntary cry. This had to be the man who'd attacked Oliver in the parking garage at Luthorcorp. He was simply too strong, inhumanly strong, and Chloe found herself newly afraid for Oliver. This man had already hurt him badly, and he was apparently here to finish the job.

"Stop!" Oliver exclaimed. "This isn't necessary."

"Apparently it is," the man shot back. "I thought I'd already made my point. You _will_ continue Mr. Luthor's business arrangement with my employer."

"And I thought a dislocated shoulder would have taught you that I don't appreciate Moretti's tactics."

The man holding Chloe growled angrily. "Listen good, Queen. We already have one of your people, but my employer is concerned that you might not care enough about your workers to make you sign the deal, so I'm gonna hold on to this sweet little thing until you get back from your meeting. Something tells me you _do_ care about whether this one stays in one piece. Just go, do what he tells you and this'll all be over."

Oliver's grim expression was beginning to worry Chloe. That expression usually led to some highly emotional and often questionable decisions. "Why don't you quit pointing that gun at her and maybe I'll think about it."

The man pulled the gun away from her, instead aiming it squarely at Oliver's chest. "You like this better?" he sneered. "I don't mind putting a few holes in you to get the point across. Don't worry. I'm a good shot. It won't be fatal."

Oliver's gaze met Chloe's and in that instant, they came to an immediate agreement. Chloe brought her high heel down on the man's foot, using every bit of strength she had. He shrieked, involuntarily releasing her as he staggered back a step.

"You bitch!" the man howled, and she could have sworn his eyes had the faintest green glow. He backhanded her viciously and for a second Chloe thought he'd hit her so hard he'd snapped her neck. As it was, the blow turned her and she slammed into the dumpster behind her, face first.

She heard Oliver grunt, followed by a metallic skittering noise and she guessed he'd managed to smack or kick the gun away from their attacker. More sounds followed of flesh on flesh, but she couldn't see anything for the stars blurring her vision.

Chloe tried to turn toward the sounds of the fighting and slowly, the shapes came back into focus. Oliver was ashen, bleeding from a cut above his left eye and badly favoring his already damaged ribs and chest.

"You think I don't know what you are?" Oliver said, using the one pain-free stalling tactic still available to him, his mouth.

The only answer was a flurry of punches and kicks so fast that Chloe could barely follow. Oliver's breathing was labored, but he kept pace, brushing most of the blows aside, although too many made it through his guard.

"You spent some time around meteor rock, huh?" Oliver gasped out. "You work in one of Luthor's labs maybe? Exposure made you a little stronger? A little faster?"

The gunman grunted, circling, trying to get a better angle for another attack. "I had a good job until your people started shutting down Luthor's projects. You fired me along with everybody else and Moretti was the only one left who appreciated my… skills."

"You're right," Oliver snarled. "I don't approve of having hired killers on the payroll."

The hitman lunged toward Oliver, clearly aiming for his ribs, but Oliver turned at the last second, and instead landed a brutal kick to the man's groin. The man fell to his knees in obvious agony.

"I don't care how strong you are," Oliver said through panting breaths, "you're still a guy." He turned toward her and held out a hand. "Come on!" he said urgently. "Let's go!"

"I will kill you for that!" the man shouted from behind them. "Orders or no orders!" He moved too fast to be normal and blocked their way out of the alley. He pointed at Chloe. "Better yet, I'll kill her!"

Oliver immediately turned and pushed Chloe backwards, shoving her between the wall of the building and one of the huge dumpsters, in effect blocking any access to her, except to go through him. "Do not come out!" he ordered. "No matter what, you stay back there."

"Ollie, look out!" she screamed, but it was too late. His inattention had cost him. By focusing on protecting her, he'd left himself open to attack.

The other man released a bruising punch to Oliver's lower back, throwing him toward Chloe. He slammed into the dumpster and had to grab it to keep from falling. He spun just in time to catch another jab, this time to his ribs. He doubled over, but still managed to stay on his feet.

Somehow, by the third blow, Oliver rallied. He blocked the next few and landed a few of his own, but Chloe could see his tenuous strength wasn't just flagging. It was failing.

Chloe pulled out her cell phone and dialed Clark. She knew Oliver wouldn't like it, but they were past that. Oliver was dying to protect _her_. That, she would not allow. She'd played that game before and lost. It wouldn't happen again. Not if she could help it.

"_Hello_?"

"Alley behind the Clocktower. We need help!" she said desperately, and she knew Clark would be able to hear the sounds of a fight in the background.

Only a second later, there was a gust of wind and faster than she could see, their attacker was face down on the ground, unconscious, and hog-tied using some sort of twine Clark had grabbed from somewhere.

Oliver staggered and fell back with a clang against the dumpster Chloe was still using as a shield. He slid to the ground, almost wheezing, his breath was sawing in and out loudly. Chloe quickly wiggled out from behind the dumpster and knelt beside him. He had his arms wrapped around his chest as if trying to physically hold himself together. His eyes were closed and he looked ready to pass out at any second.

"Oliver?" she said tentatively. "Ollie, can you hear me?"

Clark knelt on his other side and she noted he was in his full Blur outfit. She couldn't help but notice how impossibly strong and healthy he appeared in contrast to Oliver who was so much more vulnerable to attack. Yet, it had been Oliver, plain human Oliver, who'd pushed her behind the dumpster and stood between her and a trained, meteor-infected hitman with a personal grudge.

"What happened?" Clark asked. "Who was that guy?"

"It was the man who attacked Oliver yesterday. He's just been waiting for another chance."

"Why?"

"I'll explain later," she said, more concerned about Oliver than anything else. "Can you drop this guy off at the police station? I'm sure he's wanted for more than this. I need to get Oliver back up to his apartment and call Emil."

Clark frowned at the dismissal, once again glancing between Oliver and Chloe and not liking what he was seeing, but nodded nevertheless. She knew she would have to smooth his ruffled feathers later about what had happened, as well as reassure him that Oliver hadn't purposely dragged her into danger. Clark had a nasty habit of yelling at other people for putting her in harm's way and excusing when her outings for him landed her in the ER.

There was another gust of air and the hitman was gone as well as Clark. She turned her attention back to Oliver. His breathing had eased somewhat, but his face was lined with pain and his eyes were still closed.

"Boyscout gone?"

"Yes."

Oliver pursed his lips. "Good. I could hear him glaring at me."

"You could hear it?"

"His glare is very loud."

Chloe smiled. "It is, isn't it?"

Oliver's eyes opened slowly and he blinked several times to get them to focus on her. Abruptly, he sat up straighter, grimacing in pain, but his gaze still on her.

"Are you all right?"

"What?" He was beaten to a pulp, sitting in a filthy alley, barely conscious and he was looking at _her_ worriedly.

Oliver reached a hand up and brushed the back of his fingers across her cheek. As soon as he did, she realized it was stinging. She brought her hand up and felt blood on her cheek. Either the man had torn the skin when he'd struck her, or she'd cut it when she slammed into the dumpster.

"I'm fine, just a cut and a few bruises. You're the one who's a mess." Oliver didn't look appeased, but he didn't have the energy to fight her. "Come on. Let's get you upstairs."

Chloe put an arm beneath his and helped him get to his feet. He made a horrible noise that was halfway between a gasp and a whimper and it was so unlike him that she hardly knew what to do. Oliver downplayed injuries or just flat out refused to acknowledge them. Either that or he used them shamelessly to get her to take care of him, but that was only when it was clearly superficial. The more serious it was, the less he said.

"Ollie?" she asked worriedly. When he didn't answer, she pulled out her phone to call Clark and tell him to come back.

Oliver immediately reached out and stopped her from dialing. "What time is it?"

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "You can't seriously think you're still going to that meeting."

Oliver shook his head. "This has to end." He looked down at her, a faint smile on his strained expression. "Trust me. I do have a plan."

"So do I. The Feds are already compiling a case against Moretti. You let them do their jobs."

Oliver straightened, wincing as he did. "That's weeks away. My people are still in the line of fire. _You_ are. I can stop that."

"With a meeting," she said, every bit of her skepticism showing.

He glanced down and took in the sorry state of his ripped and filthy clothing. "Well, maybe not like this. It doesn't exactly scream power suit, does it?"

Chloe huffed in exasperation. "Ollie."

"Help me change?"

She bit back what she really wanted to say, as well as what she wanted to yell at him for being so unreasonable. If she was lucky, she would get him back upstairs and he would pass out, rendering their argument moot.

"Come on," she said begrudgingly. She put her arm around his waist and he rested his arm across her shoulders, hissing in pain at the movement. "You ok?" He simply nodded and together, slowly, they headed back into the building.

"This'll be my third suit today," he panted. "One more and we'll hold the record."

"I'll make sure Guinness knows."

"I'm sure they'll be very impressed. You can call them while I'm at the meeting."

"Since when is meeting with a kidnapper and a murderer something to joke about?" she snapped, perilously close to losing control of her temper. This was beyond Oliver being stubborn or proud. This was suicide, and totally unnecessary. The Feds were going to take down Moretti's organization. They just needed to hold out for a few weeks. Given a few more hours at Watchtower, she could probably cut that down as well.

"You know you're pretty hard on a bunch of gangsters when you're the one who hit me with a truck. They at least had the courtesy to just try to kill me outright."

"It's all in the intent," Chloe deadpanned. "The truck was a three ton educational tool."

"Ah. It's a fine line, apparently." Oliver laughed at his own joke, then groaned, wrapping his free arm tighter around his chest.

"Happy now?" she asked. "Even your own sense of humor thinks you're a moron." She kept her voice down, though, since they were walking back toward the elevator and the concierge was looking at them curiously. She didn't think he'd actually looked at them earlier when they left since they were headed out the back.

"Don't worry," Oliver murmured. "He's used to seeing me come in hung-over and bloody."

"That's not reassuring, Ollie."

"Hazard of the playboy life." Oliver waved toward the man and raised his voice. "Hey, Stevie. Kids ok?"

"They're a handful," the concierge said easily. "Long day, Mr. Queen?"

"Something like that."

Chloe guided Oliver around to the elevator, then hustled him inside. She let him lean against the back wall and stepped away from him.

"You still mad?" he asked lightly.

"Yes."

"Do you know how much I want to kiss you right now?"

Chloe looked up and stared at him in disbelief. "You've lost it."

"Maybe." He grinned. "You're still sexy when you're mad."

Chloe just glared, although she could feel herself weakening. It was nearly impossible to stay angry with him. "Shut up, Ollie. I'll help you get to your meeting. You don't have to butter me up."

"I still want to kiss you."

Chloe stepped closer, their bodies just barely touching and she looked up at him. Oliver stared at her mouth hungrily, but didn't move.

"You can't bend down, can you?" She smiled wickedly.

He sighed. "I think I might die if I move again."

"That's too bad," she whispered. She stood on her tiptoes and placed a light kiss on the very tip of his dimpled chin. The elevator stopped at the penthouse. "Come on, hero. Let's get you ready for your meeting."

* * *

><p><em>The finale's next... maybe tomorrow if I buckle down…<em>


	8. Chapter 8

**Good Fences**

Summary: Post Conspiracy. Things go from bad to worse when Oliver and Chloe still can't quite make up.

_And here you have it, all wrapped up. Hope you enjoyed it, and thank you for every single review and kind word._

Chapter Eight

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><p>Chloe stayed very close to Oliver as they walked into the restaurant. She was surprised he hadn't protested at her coming along, but despite the attack, he hadn't even hinted that she should stay behind or somehow monitor the meeting from elsewhere. Whatever his reasoning, she stayed close, both to grab him if he stumbled and to support him in whatever his scheme was.<p>

The small upscale restaurant was empty except for one linen-covered table right in the middle of the room. One man sat at the table while two more stood behind him who might as well have had "Goon" tattooed on their foreheads. The seated man, Moretti, was in his fifties, had a full head of salt and pepper hair and an expensive suit, although he was no match for Oliver's tailor or for the way Oliver filled out a suit. He was as ugly as Oliver was handsome, and she didn't just mean his looks. Physically, he wasn't horrible, but there was just something about him. He was as repellent as Oliver was alluring.

Oliver led the way to the table. Moretti did not stand as they approached, clearly signaling that he was in charge and they were coming to him as supplicants.

The table was set for two, so Oliver grabbed a chair from another table and pulled it up to theirs, holding it gallantly for her to be seated first. Chloe took her place, and then Oliver sat in the other chair, folding his hands in his lap. For several moments, they all sat there in silence, and Chloe had the feeling it was like children seeing who would blink first.

Finally, it was Moretti who gave in. "Mr. Queen… May I call you Oliver?"

"Of course," he said easily. "We're all friends here." Oliver smiled genially and Chloe looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He appeared completely relaxed and even affable. The only giveaway, and she doubted anyone noticed but her, was a few fine lines around his eyes that warned of just how angry he really was.

"I have to say," Moretti looked Oliver up and down, "you're looking a little rougher than the last time I saw you." Oliver was white as a sheet, the cut on his brow was closed with butterfly bandages, his hands bore the evidence that he'd been brawling, and the dark circles under his eyes were so black as to make him appear bruised.

"I just got this suit," Oliver said, purposely misunderstanding. "Maybe it's not my tailor's best work. He is getting older." He made a show of patting the lapels. "What can you do? He's been with the family for years."

Moretti shrugged, as if to say he, too, knew the trials of modern rich guy living. "Would you like something to drink?" He gestured toward one of the goons, since the restaurant appeared to be empty otherwise.

"No, thank you." Oliver's pleasant façade slipped just a bit and Chloe knew he had to be hurting beyond belief. Forcing him to sit and appear unaffected was torture in and of itself. "Let's get down to business, shall we?"

"Very well." Moretti reached down beside him and shuffled in an attaché case. He pulled out a small sheaf of papers and set it on the table. He cast a glance at Chloe, momentarily curious, but it passed just as quickly. Moretti pushed the papers across the table so that they were right in front of Oliver. She saw that there were even little colored flags stuck to the pages where he was supposed to sign.

"I am sorry it has come to this," Moretti said.

Chloe didn't think he looked sorry. He looked triumphant. Oliver must have been a definite thorn in the man's side. She almost smiled. If there was one thing Oliver was good at, it was causing problems and aggravating the bad guys.

"Allow me." Moretti pulled a pen out of his breast pocket and set it on top of the papers. "Sign the contract and this unpleasant situation will all be over. Business will go on as usual." When Oliver did not pick up the pen, the man frowned. "Look, Queen… this has gone on long enough. You are out of options. Sign."

Oliver cocked his head to one side, studying his opponent. "No, I don't think so."

"I beg your pardon?"

"As long as we're so _friendly_," Oliver replied, "then allow me to make myself clear."

Moretti's eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips, not pleased with Oliver's less than subservient tone, while his goons bristled at their boss being openly disrespected. "Go right ahead."

"I will not now, nor will I ever be your laundry service." Oliver put a hand on the papers and shoved them right back over to Moretti.

The mob boss looked murderous. "You forget-"

"I forget nothing," Oliver snapped, all pretense of friendliness gone. "Your hitman is currently in police custody and if you contact your men, you'll find they are no longer enjoying the company of my employee. That is, if they're out of the hospital or bailed out of jail."

Moretti snapped his fingers and Goon #1 walked toward the back, pulling out his phone. They all waited while he spoke quietly to someone on the other end. After that there was complete silence while Oliver and Moretti returned to their staring contest. Chloe might as well not have been there for all the attention they paid her. Finally, Goon #1's phone rang. He listened briefly, then put his phone away. "One's in the hospital, the rest are in jail," he grunted.

Moretti didn't say anything, but his neck turned red as a lobster as his temper and blood pressure rose.

"So let me tell you how things really stand," Oliver said icily. "You will never step foot near me, my company, or my employees again."

"You-"

"I wasn't finished," he bit out. "While you've been threatening me or making demands or whatever you think you've been doing, I've been busy too." All of Oliver's attention was focused on Moretti, a barely leashed fury in his expression. "Your house is mortgaged." He pointed to the goons behind Moretti. "So are theirs. So is virtually every home owned by your employees, from your top lieutenants on down. I've bought up every one of those loans. Your businesses, your legitimate ones anyway, have taken out various loans through various banks. Some of your businesses are on rented property. I have bought every bit of that property and I have bought every one of those loans." Oliver leaned forward in his chair. "If you so much as touch one hair on the head of one of my people, I will raise the rent through the roof on every one of those businesses and I will call in every one of those loans."

Moretti was gaping like a landed fish. "You… you can't do that!"

"You have four legitimate children, all adults, and two mistresses with one illegitimate child a piece," Oliver stated flatly.

Moretti's eyes widened to the point it was almost comical. "What… how did you…"

"I also own the loans on their homes. I own their college loans, personal loans, their medical bills, their credit cards. I own their car loans. I will foreclose on their houses. I will demand payment for the rest. If pressed I will make sure anyone associated with you who works for a legitimate business where I have any influence is fired. You, your family, your employees, their parents, spouses, children." Oliver's glare was cold, deadly. "I will financially ruin you all."

"But you…" Moretti and his two goons looked stunned. Chloe herself was feeling stunned. She'd had no idea how busy Oliver had been during the past few weeks. He certainly hadn't been joking when he said he had a plan.

"You threatened my employees and my company, two things I will not stand for." Oliver sat back in his chair, once again seemingly relaxed. "Do not cross a billionaire, Mr. Moretti. We have our own ways of breaking people."

"This isn't possible." Moretti stood up so quickly his chair fell over backwards. He was shaking with anger. "Do you know who I am? No one-"

Oliver quickly cut him off. "I know _exactly_ who and what you are." He, too, stood and spent a moment calmly smoothing his tie into place. It looked habitual, but Chloe knew he was covering for the time he needed to get his pain levels back in control. "If you cross my path again, I'll take everything you, your family, and your employees have and you'll be exactly one thing to me." He met Moretti's furious gaze. "A tax write-off."

Oliver held out his hand for Chloe to take. She was feeling a bit battered from the encounter and didn't think twice about taking it. Together, they walked toward the door, but Oliver stopped just before the exit. He turned. "One last thing. If you're thinking about eliminating me, my team knows exactly what to do with your properties and your businesses. They will start proceedings immediately. Just do us both a favor. Go away, Mr. Moretti. Don't bother me, and I'll do the same."

Chloe squeezed his hand, encouraging him to stop goading the enraged mobster. Oliver looked down at her hand and smiled. "Oh, I almost forgot."

"What?" Moretti ground out.

"This woman. I brought her for a reason. Your man tried to kill her earlier today." Oliver's smile faded to something lethal, almost feral, something Chloe had never seen in his expression before. "If you or your employees so much as look at her again, I won't just ruin you." His voice dropped low to a dangerous growl. "I will end you. Personally. Do we understand each other?"

Moretti's eyes nervously glanced at her and then away. He might be a killer, but he seemed to recognize a superior predator. "Yes," he finally said.

"Good," Oliver's expression lightened into his usual confident affability. "I'm glad we could have this talk. It ironed out a lot of issues. Businessmen… we love meetings that iron out issues." He turned back toward the door with Chloe still in tow and left.

* * *

><p>Chloe was silent the entire ride back to the Clocktower. Oliver was as well, but she wasn't sure he was actually conscious. His head was leaned back on the seat and his eyes were closed.<p>

Even if he wasn't asleep, Chloe was grateful for a few minutes to be alone with her own thoughts. Oliver was usually so easy-going, so light-hearted, for a hawk-eyed vigilante who fought injustice on a nightly basis, at least. Yet, the look on his face as he'd thundered away at Moretti, the planning, the work that had gone into outmaneuvering him, the steel she had seen beneath Oliver's friendly veneer, it wasn't just surprising, it was game-changing. Because Chloe had thought that she and Oliver really could maintain their friends with benefits arrangement as long as they were careful, or as long as _she_ was careful. Now, however, now she knew just how far Oliver was willing to go to get what he wanted. She knew he would use every resource at his disposal. And he had a lot of resources: money, charm, looks, and a host of traits that apparently included a boatload of tenacity.

Oliver hadn't brought them to bear on her yet, not fully, but something told her that he would if she didn't tread carefully. The problem was that half of her didn't want to watch her step. It was the half she ruthlessly forced back into its cage, but no matter how much she tried, it kept peeking through the bars and seeing Oliver and all that he offered.

Right now, that part of her wanted to look after him, to fuss over him and nurse him back to health. She wanted to boss him around and make sure he didn't overdo it while he was recuperating. She wanted to yell at him for letting things get so far in the first place when she could have helped him.

Chloe looked at him, felt herself weakening, and promptly gave herself a good stern lecture on keeping appropriate emotional distance from handsome, injured, overly charming, overly tempting, billionaire heroes.

When the taxi came to a stop in front of the building, she nudged him very gently. Oliver startled awake, followed by a pain-filled groan. Chloe paid the cabbie, then got out and walked around to help Oliver out of the car.

Silently, they made their way through the lobby, past the curious concierge, then into the elevator. Once again, Oliver leaned against the back, but this time Chloe remained beside him, afraid he would fall if she let him go. She looked up at him, however, and he was grinning.

"You look awfully pleased with yourself."

"I just outflanked a mob boss who had us dead to rights." He laughed and wrapped his arm around his chest, groaning. "That," he panted, "was the most fun I've had in weeks." He kept laughing, groaning all the while, laughing until he was doubled over and crying. "Did you see his face?" he cackled. "I thought he was going to have a heart attack right there!"

Chloe couldn't help it. She wanted to laugh along with him. The look on Moretti's smug face changing to bug-eyed horror had been a joy to behold. Unfortunately, Oliver's laughter sounded too close to hysterics, and it had to be beyond painful. He really was reaching his rope's end.

"Yes, yes. You're very smart. Now knock it off," she chided. "You're going to hurt yourself."

Oliver leaned back against the wall. His laughter died away and he groaned in misery. "Had to be done. I had to impress you with my brains," he said. "I don't want you to think I'm just an idiot gigolo with a bow and arrow."

The words were said flippantly, but Chloe could tell there was a hint of truth behind what he said. Did he really think she didn't know how smart he was? Granted, she kept insisting she only wanted his body and nothing else. And she'd taken his money, figuring she could do it with him never being the wiser.

The elevator finally stopped and she pulled the grate back. Oliver stumbled into the apartment. He started for the sofa, but Chloe quickly altered his path and pointed him toward the bedroom. She knew that once he was down, he wasn't going to be able to move again.

As they walked toward his room, he let his coat slip off and tossed it over a chair as he passed. Oliver was always efficient, neat and precise in movement, in planning, and in speech. His words were often as pointed and well-aimed as his arrows. It was thus all the more noticeable when his tie followed his jacket, draped messily over a different piece of furniture. Oliver was past caring, too tired to concern himself with anything but putting one foot in front of the other.

Finally, they made it to his room and she steered him toward the bed. For what seemed like the umpteenth time that day, he sat on the edge and Chloe stepped between his legs. She quickly unbuttoned his shirt and helped him ease it off over his broad shoulders. She removed his shoes and socks, then unbuckled his belt and with a few awkward moments for both of them managed to get his pants off. That left him in just his boxers and the form fitting brace that she was afraid was the only thing keeping him even close to upright at the moment.

She reached for it, but stopped when Oliver's fingers brushed across her cheek. She looked up into his face and saw that his gaze was locked not on her eyes, but on her cheek where she'd been struck and slammed into the dumpster. His fingers danced across her bruised skin gently, delicately and she could feel her entire body thrumming to life.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice low and troubled.

"What for?"

"Are you sure you're all right?" His fingers brushed over the cut which was already scabbing over. "I saw how hard he hit you."

"I'm just fine, Oliver." She reached up and took his hand. She brought it to her lips and kissed it. "It's not your fault this happened."

He shook his head, then groaned and closed his eyes. Apparently his head had had quite enough for one day.

"We can talk about this later," Chloe urged. "You need to rest."

Rather than following her suggestion, Oliver dropped his hands and wrapped them around her waist. He pulled her close until she tucked her head beneath his chin, very careful when she hugged him back.

She'd missed him. His arms, his warmth, the safety his presence represented. By failing to tell him about the money, she'd temporarily cost herself that, and now, it was Oliver who was feeling guilty. It was Oliver who was keeping her close because he felt like he'd failed her somehow.

Chloe, being the practical person she was, wasn't above using it either. "You should have told me about the problems you were having with Moretti," she said into his shoulder.

"You already had too much to deal with between the Kandorians and Clark and… all of the other problems we create for you. I hated to saddle you with a mobster, too."

Chloe pulled back so she could look him in the eye. "I don't care about the workload, Ollie. I just like to know where to send the troops when it all goes wrong."

Oliver nodded very slightly in acknowledgement. "And I like to know where the money's going so I know what to tell the IRS."

Chloe gave him a chagrinned smile. "Not very good at the communication thing, are we?"

He brushed a lock of hair back behind her ear. "We'll get better."

Chloe shrugged. "I don't think we can get worse."

Oliver chuckled and then winced. "Stop being funny. You're killing me here."

"Sorry." She took a good look at the brace and frowned. "How do we get this thing off you without making it all worse?"

"Cut it off," Oliver said. "I have others."

Chloe didn't like that he'd been hurt often enough to have multiples, but nevertheless, she accepted the suggestion. Oliver pointed to a bureau near the bed and she opened a drawer to find bandage scissors along with other supplies worthy of a small clinic.

"Like I said, this kind of thing has happened before," he said nonchalantly.

Chloe grabbed the scissors and slipped them between the tight, stretchy brace, the t-shirt underneath, and Oliver's skin. She slit them open front and back and then peeled them away from his skin. He'd bled though the bandages and popped stitches. The blood had dried to his skin, the brace and the bandages and pulling it off had Chloe wincing the entire time. Oliver, however, didn't utter a sound. His jaw was tightly clenched and his lips were pressed in a thin line. A fine sheen of sweat broke out on his skin, but still he remained stoic waiting for her to finish.

"Done," she finally said, trying not to let him see that her hands were shaking.

Oliver released a very slow, controlled breath. "I really, _really_ don't want to do that again."

"Lay down," Chloe ordered, heading for the door. "I'll call Emil."

He stopped her with a quick, "Wait."

"Ollie-"

"Just… just help me lay down."

He sounded so pathetically exhausted and miserable that Chloe relented. She returned to the bed and helped him ease back, then raise his feet and stretch out. He groaned loudly, this time in what sounded like pleasure.

"Remind me to invest in this mattress company. They're my new best friends." He patted the bed beside him in obvious invitation.

Chloe hesitated. This whole situation was blurring the borders of their arrangement beyond all control. She knew she had to put the brakes on it. She was on a slippery slope and fast headed downhill.

And yet… with Oliver lying on the bed, covered in cuts, bandages and bruises… She couldn't bring herself to deny him what little comfort her presence could afford. They were friends after all. They did care about each other and she hated seeing him so battered. And no matter how badly hurt he was, she knew that as soon as he could stand he would be back out there, working for Queen Industries, working for the League, and working for the city as Green Arrow.

Chloe climbed up onto the bed and settled close to his side. Oliver shifted, a slight grimace betraying that it cost him to do it. He lifted his arm so that she could rest her head on his shoulder and he could wrap his arm around her.

"There," he sighed contentedly. "All better."

"I should still call Emil," she said.

"Shhh…" Oliver frowned in disapproval. "You're supposed to wait until the patient's asleep and can't object. _Then_ you sneak out to call the doctor. I thought you knew how this worked."

"Sorry," she laughed lightly, "I forgot that part of the Stubborn Heroes Handbook."

"Our delicate egos have to be handled very carefully," he observed.

Chloe rolled her eyes. That statement might as well be the guiding principle of her life. She ought to put it on her business cards. Chloe Sullivan, Protector of Obstinate Heroes & Planet Size Egos.

"We should take a vacation," Oliver said suddenly. "Maybe a weekend somewhere."

"What?"

"When you're better," he raised his hand and brushed it over her cheek, "and I'm not looking like a piece of rotten fruit, we should go somewhere. Take a break."

Her first thought was to say no. Absolutely, positively no. Not going to happen. She and Oliver had no business going away together. That was the road to personal and emotional disaster if ever she heard it.

The more she thought about it, however, the more the idea appealed to her. How long had it been since she'd actually taken time to smell the roses? How long since Oliver had? They were both workaholics. Even when Oliver was in one of his downward spirals, he dedicated himself to it wholeheartedly. It wasn't fun and it wasn't a party no matter what it looked like on the outside. Whatever the case, after this little incident, they could both certainly use a little downtime.

Could she keep it together if they had a little Friends With Benefits Weekend Extravaganza? She curled closer to Oliver and decided she would make it happen. She was strong enough. She had the willpower. She could do it. They would have a good time, a relaxing time. They would be friends sharing some time off. If Oliver thought it would be more, or tried to make it more, then she could certainly put him in his place. Then they would come back home and get back to work, easy peasy.

"I'll look into it," Chloe finally said out loud. "See if I can't find us a nice, out of the way place where we can relax."

Oliver didn't answer and Chloe looked up to find that he was fast asleep. She started to rise to call Emil, but then decided to wait a few minutes to ensure Oliver was well and truly down for the count. After that, maybe she'd look around online and see if she couldn't find a place well off the beaten path where they weren't likely to know Oliver and his famous face on sight.

Chloe told herself once again that it would be all right. One little weekend trip. It didn't mean anything. Just friends, going away for a little break from their crazy lives.

Chloe looked up at Oliver's bruised, but peaceful face. She placed a gentle kiss on his cheek and Oliver's arm tightened around her in response.

Just friends.

Somehow… Chloe got the feeling she just might be kidding herself.

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><p><em>Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it.<em>


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